Ai 
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O! 
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1 

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>?^vr. 


>t?f 


Dramas  and  Poems 


SIR    EDWARD    BULWER    LYTTON 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS 

1874 


.A\"' 


Cambridge: 
presswork  by  john  wilson  and  soi» 


PHEFAC  E 


TO    THE    AMERICAN    EDITION. 


In  the  preparation  of  this  vohime,  it  has  been 
the  wish  of  the  pubHshers  to  bring  together,  in 
a  convenient  form,  the  best  of  Sir  E.  B.  Lytton's 
dramas,  and  a  selection  of  his  minor  productions 
in  verse,  which  should  adequately  repi'esent  his 
characteristics  as  a  lyric  and  nari'ative  poet.  It 
is  for  the  reader  to  determine  how  far  this  at- 
tempt has  been  successful ;  but  it  is  believed  that 
no  piece  has  been  inserted  which  is  not  worthy 
of  the  estabhshed  reputation  of  the  author,  and 
that  the  volume  will  be  an  acceptable  addition  to 
the  pocket  library. 

Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton  is  the  youngest 
son  of  the  late  General  Bulwer  of  Heydon  Hall, 
Norfolk,  and  ujjon  his  mother's  side  he  is  de- 
scended from  a  weaUhy  family  in  Hereford, 
whose  surname  he  has  assumed  instead  of  his 
father's  patronymic.  He  was  boi'n  in  1805,  and 
is  said  to  have  exhibited  proofs  of  superior  tal- 
ents at  a  very  early  age.     His  preliminary  stud- 


PKEFACE. 


ies  were  conducted  vmder  the  eye  of  his  mother, 
■who  appears  to  have  been  a  woman  of  cultivated 
taste  and  rare  accomplishments.  He  Avas  subse- 
quently entered  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
where  he  graduated  with  honor,  having  won  the 
Chancellor's  medal  for  the  best  English  poem. 
In  1826,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  published 
a  small  volume  of  poems,  under  the  title  of 
"Weeds  and  Wild-Flowers;  and  the  next  year 
his  first  novel,  Falkland,  appeared.  Since  that 
time  he  has  been  constantly  before  the  public  as 
an  author  both  in  prose  and  verse,  and  with  a 
gradually  increasing  reputation. 

The  list  of  his  novels  includes,  besides  other 
woi'ks  of  lesser  merit  and  popularity,  Pelham, 
The  Disowned,  Devereux,  Paul  Clifford,  Eugene 
Aram,  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,  Rienzi,  Er- 
nest Malti-avers,  and  Alice,  or  the  Mysteries,  — 
all  of  which  were  published  before  he  was  thirty- 
five, —  and  The  Last  of  the  Barons,  Zanoni, 
Harold,  The  Caxtons,  and  My  Novel,  or  Varie- 
ties of  English  Life,  which  belong  to  quite  a 
different  class  of  compositions.  He  has  also 
just  commenced  the  publication  of  a  new  serial 
romance,  which  seems  likely  to  furnish  fresh  evi- 
dence of  the  remarkable  versatility  of  his  genius. 
Though  these  works  are  of  different  degrees  of 
merit,  they  all  exhibit  great  powers,  and  it  is  by 
them  that  Sir  Edward  is  best  known. 


But  he  has  not  neglected  other  walks  of  liter- 
ature. Soon  after  the  publication  of  Eugene 
Aram,  he  became  editor  of  the  New  Monthly 
Magazine ;  and  to  that  journal  he  contributed  a 
series  of  essays  and  criticisms,  subsequently  pub' 
lished  in  a  collected  form,  under  the  title  of  The 
Student.  In  1833,  he  published  two  volumes  of 
clever  and  sarcastic  observations  on  England  and 
the  English,  embodying  many  shrewd  remarks 
on  English  literature  and  society.  This  was 
followed  by  a  beautifully  illustrated  tale,  The 
Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine,  in  which  he  wrought  up 
the  materials  ■collected  during  a  Continental  tour. 

In  1842,  he  published  Eva  and  Other  Poems, 
a  volume  which  met  with  some  success.  At  a 
later  period,  he  published  anonymously  his  two 
longest  and  most  celebrated  poems,  The  New 
Timon  and  King  Arthur,  both  of  them  elaborate 
productions,  Avhich  jittracted  much  notice  at  the 
time,  and  are  likely  to  have  a  permanent  ^ilace 
in  English  literature. 

In  the  mean  time,  our  author  had  attempted 
still  another  species  of  composition.  As  early 
as  1807  he  produced  his  first  play.  The  Duchess 
de  la  Valliere,  which  Avas  brought  out  at  Covent 
Garden  Theatre,  but  was  not  favorably  received. 
Quickened  to  fresh  exertions  by  the  failure  of 
tliis  piece,  he  subsequently  Avrote  The  Lady  of 
Lyons,  Richelieu,  and  Money,  three  of  the  most 


popular  plays  now  upon  tlie  stage.  He  also 
wrote,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Guild  of  Literature 
and  Art,  a  short  play  entitled  Not  so  Bad  as  We 
Seem,  which  has  been  frequently  represented  by 
Mr.  Charles  Dickens's  amateur  company. 

Besides  his  literary  labors,  Sir  E.  B.  Lytton 
has  also  found  time  to  take  part  in  political  life. 
In  1831,  he  entered  Parliament  as  a  Whig,  and 
subsequently  became  conspicuous  for  his  advo- 
cacy of  the  rights  of  dramatic  authors,  and  for 
his  liberal  opinions  on  other  questions.  When 
Sir  Robert  Peel  formed  his  first  ministry,  in  De- 
cember, 1834,  Mr.  Bulwer,  as  he  isvas  then  de- 
nominated, published  a  pamphlet  on  The  Crisis, 
which  ran  through  more  than  twenty  editions,  and 
produced  a  very  considerable  effect.  Upon  the 
return  of  the  AYhigs  to  power,  he  was  raised  to  a 
baronetcy,  as  a  reward  for  his  services.  In  the 
general  election  of  1842,  he  lost  his  seat,  and 
was  not  again  returned  to  Parliament  until  1852, 
when  he  became  a  member  for  the  county  of 
Hertford,  having  in  the  mean  time  joined  the 
Conservative  party  under  the  leadership  of  tlue 
Earl  of  Derby.  Sir  Edward  has  not  been  a 
frequent  speaker  in  Parliament,  but  his  occa- 
sional speeches  and  addresses  have  served  to 
raise  his  reputation.  His  inaugural  address  as 
Hector  of  the  University  of  Glasgow,  in  particu- 
lar, has  been  greatly  admired. 


CONTENTS. 


The  Lady  of  Lyons  :    or,  Love  and  Pride 
Richelieu  :    or,  The  Conspiracy 


PAGE 

1 


POEMS. 


Eva 

The  Fairy  Bride 

The  Beacon  .... 

The  Lay  of  the  Jliiistrel's  Heart 

Napoleon  at  Isola  Bella 

JIazarin      .... 

Andre  Chenier 

The  First  Violets 

Love  and  Death    . 

Ganymede 

Jlemnon 

To  a  Withered  Tree  in  June 

A  Lament 

Tlie  Sabbath      . 

Absent,  yet  Present 

The  Last  Crusader     . 

The  Souls  of  Books 

The  Beautiful  descends  not 

The  LonK  Life  and  the  Full  Life 


257 
270 
284 
291 
293 
298 
303 
307 
309 
311 
311 
313 
314 
315 
316 
318 
321 
326 
327 


Money 329 


THE   LADY  OF   LYONS: 

OR, 

LOVE   AND    PRIDE. 


PREFACE. 


An  indistinct  recollection  of  tlie  very  pretty  little 
tale,  called  "  The  Bellows-jMender,"  suggested  the 
plot  of  this  Drama.  The  incidents  are,  however, 
greatly  altered  from  those  in  the  tale,  and  the  char- 
acters entirely  recast. 

Having  long  had  a  wish  to  illustrate  certain  periods 
of  the  French  history,  so,  in  the  selection  of  the  date 
in  which  the  scenes  of  this  play  are  laid,  I  saw  that 
the  era  of  the  Republic  was  that  in  which  the  inci- 
dents were  rendered  most  probable,  in  which  the  pro- 
bationary career  of  the  hero  could  well  be  made 
sufliciently  rapid  for  dramatic  eflect,  and  in  which 
the  character  of  the  time  itself  was  depicted  by  the 
agencies  necessary  to  the  conduct  of  the  narrative. 
For  during  the  early  years  of  the  first  and  most 
brilliant  successes  of  the  French  Republic,  m  the 
general  ferment  of  society,  and  the  brief  ecpialization 
of  ranks,  Claude's  high-placed  love,  his  ardent  feel- 


ings,  his  unsettled  principles,  —  (the  straggle  between 
which  makes  the  passion  of  this  drama,) — his  ambi- 
tion, and  his  career,  were  phenomena  that  character- 
ized the  age,  and  in  which  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
went  along  with  the  extravagance  of  the  individual. 

The  play  itself  was  composed  with  a  twofold  ob- 
ject. In  the  first  place,  sj-mpathizing  with  the  enter- 
prise of  Mr.  INIacready,  as  JManager  of  Covent  Gar- 
den, and  believing  that  many  of  the  higher  interests 
of  the  Drama  were  involved  in  the  success  or  failure 
of  an  enterprise  equally  hazardous  and  disinterested, 
1  felt,  if  I  may  so  j^resume  to  express  myself,  some- 
thing of  the  Brotherhood  of  Art;  and  it  was  only  for 
Mr.  INIacready  to  think  it  possible  that  I  might  serve 
him  in  order  to  induce  me  to  make  the  attempt. 

Secondly,  in  that  attempt  I  was  mainly  anxious  to 
see  whether  or  not,  after  the  comparative  failure  on 
the  stage  of  "  The  Duchess  de  la  Valliere,"  certain 
critics  had  truly  declared  that  it  was  not  in  my  power 
to  attain  the  art  of  dramatic  construction  and  theatri- 
cal effect  I  felt,  indeed,  that  it  Avas  in  this  that  a 
writer,  accustomed  to  the  narrative  class  of  composi- 
tion, would  have  the  most  both  to  learn  and  to  un- 
learn. Accordingly,  it  was  to  the  development  of 
the  plot  and  the  arrangement  of  the  incidents  that  I 
dii-ected  mv  chief  attention  ;  —  and  I  souQ;ht  to  throw 


whatever  belongs  to  poetry  less  into  the  diction  and 
the  "  felicity  of  words  "  than  into  the  construction  of 
the  story,  the  creation  of  the  characters,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  pervading  sentiment. 

The  authorship  of  the  play  was  neither  avowed 
nor  suspected  luitil  the  play  had  established  itself 
in  public  favor.  The  announcement  of  my  name 
was  the  signal  for  attacks,  chiefly  political,  to  which  it 
is  now  needless  to  refer.  When  a  work  has  outlived 
for  some  time  the  earlier  hostilities  of  ci'iticism,  there 
comes  a  new  race  of  critics  to  which  a  writer  may, 
for  the  most  part,  calmly  trust  for  a  fair  considera- 
tion, whether  of  the  fxults  or  the  merits  of  his  per- 
formance. 


THE  AUTHOR   OF  "ION," 

WHOSE  GENIUS  AND  EXAMPLE  HAVE  ALIKE  CONTRIBUTED 
TOWARDS  THE  REGENERATION  OF 

2C 1)  e   National    2D  r  a  in  a  , 

THIS  PLAY  IS  INSCRIBED. 


DEAMATIS   PEKSONJ:. 


Beauseaxt,  a  rich  gentleman  of  Lyons,  i/i   love  tciih,  and 

refused  by,  Pauline  Deschappelles. 
Glavis,  his/rienJ,  also  a  rejected  suitor  to  Pauline. 
Colonel  (aflerwards  General)  Damas,  cousin  to  Madame 

Deschappelles,  and  an  officer  in  the  French  army. 
MoxsiEUR  Deschappelles,  a  Lyonnese  merchant,  father  to 

Pauline. 
Lasdlop.d  of  the  Golden  Lion. 
Gaspar. 

Clatde  Melxotte. 
First  Officer,  Second  Officer,  Third  Officer. 

Servants,  Notary,  ^-c. 

JIada:me  Deschappelles. 

Pauline,  her  daughter. 

The  Widow  Melnotte,  mother  to  Claude. 

Janet,  the  inl-eepei-'s  daughter. 

Marian,  maid  to  Pauline. 

Scene.  —  Lyons  and  the  neighborhood. 
Time.  — 1795-1798. 


THE   LADY   OF   LYOXS 


LOVE   AND   PRIDE. 


ACT   I. 

Scene  I.  —  A  room  in  the  house  of  JI.  Deschappelt.es,  al 
Lyons.  Pauline  reclining  on  a  sofa;  Maijian,  her  maid, 
fanning  her.  —  Flowers  ami  notes  on  a  table  beside  the  sofa. 
—  !Ma»ame  DEScirATPELLES  seated.  —  The  Gardens  ai-e 
seen  from  the  open  window. 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

Marian,  put  that  rose  a  little  more  to  the  left- 

—  (]\Iariax  alters  the  position  of  a  rose  in  Pau- 
ijxk's   hair.)  —  Ah,   so!  —  that  improves   the   air, 

—  the  tournure,  the  Je  ne  sais  qwd  !  —  You  are  cer- 
tainly very  handsome,  child! — quite  my  style;  —  I 
don't  wonder  that  j'ou  make  such  a  sensation  !  — 
Old,  young,  rich,  and  poor,  do  homage  to  the  Beauty 
of  Lyons  ! — Ah,  we  live  again  in  our  children, — 
especially  when  they  have  our  eyes  and  complexion  ! 

PAULINE  {languidly). 
Dear  mother,  j'OU  spoil  your  Pauline!  —  (Aside.) 
I  wish  I  knew  who  sent  me  these  flowers ! 


10  THE  LADY   OF    LYONS: 

HIADAME    DESCIIArPEI.LES. 

No,  child !  —  if  I  praise  you,  it  is  only  to  inspire 

you  with  a   proper   ambition.  —  You   arc   born   to 

make   a  great   marriage.  —  Beauty   is   valuable   or 

■worthless  according  as   you  invest  the  property  to 

the   best   advantage.  —  Marian,   go   and   order   the 

carriage ! 

[Exit  JIakian. 

PAULINE. 

Who  can  it  be  that  sends  me,  every  day,  these 
beautiful  flowers  ?  —  how  sweet  they  are ! 
Enter  Servant. 

SERVANT. 

Monsieur  Beauseant,  Madam. 

JIADAME   DESCIIAPPELLES. 

Let  him  enter.     Pauline,  this  is  another  offer  !  —  I 
know  it  is !  —  Your  father  should  engage  an  addition- 
al clerk  to  keep  the  account-book  of  j'our  conquests. 
E7iter  Beauseant. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Ah,  ladies,  how  fortunate  I  am  to  find   you  at 

home! (Aside.)    How  lovely  she  looks!  —  It  is 

a  great  sacrifice  I  make  in  marrying  into  a  family 

in    trade!  —  they   will    be    eternally   grateful! 

{Aloud.)  Madam,  you  will  permit  me  a  word  with 

your  charming  daughter. (Aj>proaclies  Paulixk, 

who   rises   disdainful! ij.) IMademoiselle,  I   have 

ventured  to  wait  upon  you,  in  a  hope  that  you  must 
long  since  h£ive  divined.  Last  night,  when  you  out- 
shone all  the  beauty  of  Lyons,  you  completed  your 
conquest  over  me !     Y'^ou  know  that  my  fortune  is 


on,    LOVE    AXD    PRIDK.  11 

not  exceeded  by  any  estate  in  the  province,  —  you 
know  that,  but  for  the  Revolution,  Avhieh  has  de- 
frauded me  of  my  titles,  I  should  be  noble.  IMay  I, 
then,  trust  that  you  will  not  reject  my  alliance  ?  I 
oiler  you  my  hand  and  heart. 

PAULINE  {aside). 
He  has  the  air  of  a  man  who  confers  a  favor! 
—  (^Aloud.')  Sir,  you  are  very  condescending,  —  I 
thank  you  humbly ;  but,  being  dulj'  sensible  of  my 
own  demerits,  j'ou  must  allow  me  to  decline  the 
honor  you  purpose. 

[  Curtsies,  and  turns  away. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Decline  !  impossible  !  —  you  are  not  serious !  — 
IMadame,  suffer  me  to  appeal  to  ijou.  I  am  a  suitor 
for  your  daughter's  hand,  —  the  settlements  shall  be 
Avorthy  of  her  beauty  and  my  station.  May  I  wait 
on  M.  Deschappelles  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAl'PELLES. 

M.  Deschappelles  never  interferes  in  the  domestic 
arrangements,  —  you  are  very  obliging.  If  you  were 
still  a  manpiis,  or  if  my  daughter  wore  intended  to 
marry  a  commoner,  —  why,  perhaps,  we  might  give 
you  the  preference. 

P.EAUSEANT. 

A  commoner !  —  we  are  all  commoners  in  France 
now. 

JIAPAME    DKSCHAPrEI.LE.S. 

In  France,  yes ;  but  there  is  a  nobility  still  left  in 
the  other  countries  in  Europe.  Via  are  quite  aware 
of  your  good  qualities,  and  don't  doubt  that  you  will 


12  THE   LADY   OF    LYONS: 

find  some  lady  more  suitable  to  your  pretensions. 
We  shall  be  always  happy  to  see  }ou  as  an  acquaint- 
ance, ]M.  Beauseant !  —  My  dear  child,  the  carriage 
will  be  here  presently. 

BKAUSEANT. 

Say  no  more,  INIadame  !  —  say  no  more  !  —  (^IstWe.) 

lleftised !  and  by  a  merchant's  daughter  !  —  refused ! 

It  will  be  all  over  Lyons  before  sunset !  —  I  will  go 

and  bury  myself  in  my  chateau,  study  philosophy, 

and  tui-n  woman-hater,     lletused !  they  ought  to  be 

sent  to  a  madhouse  !  —  Ladies,  I  have  the  honor  to 

Avisli  you  a  very  good  morning. 

[  Exit. 

MADAME    DKSCHAri'KLLKS. 

How  forward  these  men  are !  —  I  think,  child,  we 
kept  up  our  dignity.  Any  girl,  however  inexperi- 
enced, knows  how  to  accept  an  offer,  but  it  requires 
a  vast  deal  of  address  to  refuse  one  with  proper 
condescension  and  disdain.  I  used  to  practise  it  at 
school  Avith  the  dancing-master. 
Enter  Damas. 

DA. MAS. 

Good  morning,  cousin  Deschappelles.  — Well,  Pau- 
line, are  you  recovered  from  last  night's  ball  ?  —  So 
many  triumphs  must  be  very  fatiguing.  Even  jM. 
Glavis  sighed  most  piteously  when  you  departed  ;  — 
but  that  might  be  the  effect  of  the  supper. 

rAULINE. 

]\I.  CJlavis,  indeed ! 

MADASIK    DESCIIAPrEI.LES. 

]\I.  Glavis  ?  —  as  if  my  daughter  would  think  of 
]\L  Glavis ! 


OR,    LOVK    AXD    PRIDE.  13 

DA  MAS. 

Iloyday  !  —  why  not?  —  His  father  left  him  a 
very  j)retty  fortune,  and  liis  birtli  is  hiijher  than 
yours,  cousin  Deschappelles.  But  perhaps  you  are 
looking  to  M.  Beauseant,  —  his  father  was  a  marquis 
before  the  Revolution. 

PAULINK. 

]\I.  Beauseant !  —  Cousin,  you  delight  in  torment- 
ing me ! 

MADA3IE  PESCIIAPPELT.es. 

Don't  mind  him,  Pauline  !  —  Cousin  Damas,  you 
have  no  susceptibility  of  feeling,  —  there  is  a  certain 
indelicacy  in  all  your  ideas.  —  M.  Beauseant  knows 
already  that  he  is  no  match  for  my  daughter ! 
da:mas. 

Pooh  I  pooh  !  one  would  think  you  intended  your 
daughter  to  marry  a  prince  ! 

JIAn.\.ME    DESCHAPPELLES. 

Well,  and  if  I  did  ?  —  what  then  ?  —  ]\Iany  a 
foreign  prince  — 

DAMAS  {interrupting  her). 

Foreign  prince!  —  foreign  fiddlestick! — you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  such  nonsense  at  your  time  of  life. 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELI/ES. 

My  time  of  life !  —  That  is  an  expression  never 
applied  to  any  lady  till  she  is  sixty-nine  and  three- 
quarters  ;  —  and  only  then  by  the  clergyman  of  the 
parish. 

Enter  Servant. 

SEi:VANT. 

Madame,  the  carriage  is  at  the  door. 

\Exit. 


14  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS: 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

Come,  child,  put  on  your  bonnet,  —  you  really 
have  a  very  thorough-bred  air,  —  not  at  all  like  your 
poor  father.  —  (^Fondli/.)  Ah,  you  little  cociuette! 
Tvhen  a  young  lady  is  always  making  mischief,  it  is  a 
sure  sign  that  she  takes  after  her  mother ! 

PAULINE. 

Good  day,  cousin  Damas,  —  and  a  better  humor 
to   you. —  (^Goin(j  hack  to  the  table   and  taking  the 
Jlowers.)     AVho  could  have  sent  me  these  flowei-s  V 
[Exeunt  Pauline  and  Madame  Deschappelles. 

DAMAS. 

That  would  be  an  excellent  girl  if  her  head  had 
not  been  turned.  I  fear  she  is  now  become  incor- 
rigible !  Zounds,  what  a  lucky  fellow  I  am  to  be 
still  a  bachelor !  They  may  talk  of  the  devotion  of 
the  sex,  —  but  the  most  faithful  attachment  in  life  is 
that  of  a  woman  in  love  —  with  herself  1 

\_Exit. 


SCENE  II. 


The  exterior  of  a  small  Village  Inn,  —  sign,  the  Golden  Lion, 
—  afeio  leagues  from  Lyons,  which  is  seen  at  a  distance. 

15EAUSEANT  (behind  the  scenes). 
Yes,  you  may  bait  the  hoi-ses,  we  shall  rest  here 
an  hour. 

Enter  Beauseant  and  G  la  vis. 

GLAVIS. 

Really,  my  dear  Beauseant,  consider  that  I  have 


OR,    I.OVE    AND    PRIDE.  15 

promised  to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  you  at  your 
chateau,  —  that  I  am  quite  at  your  mercy  for  my 
entertaimuent,  —  and  yet  you  are  as  silent  and  as 
gloomy  as  a  mute  at  a  funeral,  or  an  Englishman 
at  a   party  of  pleasure. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Bear  with  me  !  —  the  fact  is,  that  I  am  miserable. 

GLAVIS. 

You,  —  the  richest  and  gayest  bachelor  in  Lyons  ? 

BEAUSEAXT. 

It  is  because  I  am  a  bachelor  that  I  am  miserable. 
—  Thou  knowest  Pauline,  —  the  only  daughter  of  the 
rich  merchant,  Mons.  DeschappcUes  ? 

GLAVIS. 

Know  her  !  —  who  does  not  ?  —  as  pretty  as  Venus, 
and  as  proud  as  Juno. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Her  taste  is  worse  than  her  pride —  {Draicing  him- 
self up.)  Know,  Glavis,  she  has  actually  refused  7}ie  ! 
GLAVIS  (aside). 

So  she  has  me  !  —  very  consoling !  In  all  cases  of 
heart-ache,  the  application  of  another  man's  disap- 
pointment draws  out  the  pain  and  allays  the  irrita- 
tion. —  (^Aloitd.)     Refused  you  !  and  wherefore  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  know  not,  unless  it  be  because  the  Revolution 
swept  away  m)'  father's  title  of  Marquis,  —  and  she 
will  not  marry  a  commoner.  Xow,  as  we  have  no 
noblemen  left  in  Franco,  —  as  we  are  all  citizens 
and  equals,  she  can  only  hope  that,  in  spite  of  the 
war,   some   English  Milord  or   Cierman    Count  will 


16  THE    LADY    OK    LYONS  : 

risk  his  life,  by  coming  to  Lyons,  that  this  fiUe  da 
lioturler  \w\y  condescend  to  accept  him.  Refused 
me,  and  with  scorn!  —  By  heaven,  I'll  not  submit 
to  it  tamely:  —  I  'm  in  a  perfect  fever  of  mortifica- 
tion and  rage.  —  Refuse  me,  indeed  ! 

CLAVIS. 

Be  comforted,  my  dear  fellow,  —  I  will  tell  you  a 
secret.     For  the  same  reason  she  refused  me  ! 

r.EAUSEAXT. 

You  !  —  that 's  a  very  different  matter !  But  give 
me  your  hand,  Glavis, ' —  we  '11  think  of  some  plan 
to  humble  her.  M'lUe  Diables  !  I  should  like  to  see 
her  married  to  a  strolling  player ! 

Enter  Landlord  and  his  Daughter ^Vom  the  Inn. 

LANDLORD. 

Your  servant,  citizen  Beauseant,  • —  servant,  sir. 
Perhaps  you  will  take  dinner  before  you  proceed  to 
your  chateau ;  our  larder  is  most  plentifully  supplied. 

I5EAUSEAXT. 

I  have  no  appetite. 

fJLAVIS. 

Xor  I.  Still  it  is  bad  travelling  on  an  empty 
stomach.  "What  lia\e  }ou  got  ?  ( Takes  and  looks 
over  the  hill  of  fare.) 

(Shout  icithoul)  —  "  Long  live  the  Prince !  —  Long 
live  the  Prince  !  " 

r.EAi:SEANT. 

The  Prince  !  —  what  Prince  is  that  ?  I  thought 
we  had  no  princes  left  in  France. 

LAXDLOr.D. 

Ila,  ha  !  the  lads  always  call  him  Prince.     He  has 


OR,    LOVE    AXD    PRIDK.  17 

just  ■won  the  prize  in  the  shooting-match,  and  they 
ai'O  taking  him  home  in  triumph. 

BKAUSKAXT. 

Him  !  and  -Wiio  's  jNIr.  Ilim  ! 

LAXDLORn. 

Who  should  lie  bu  but  the  pride  of  the  village, 
Claude  Melnotte  ?  —  Of  course  you  have  heard  of 
Claude  Melnotte  ? 

GLAVis  {fjicing  back  the  bill  of  fare). 

Never  had  that  honor.  Soup  —  ragout  of  hare  — 
roast  chicken,  and,  in  short,  all  you  have  I 

BEAUSEAXT. 

The  son  of  old  IMelnotte,  the  gardener  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Exactly  so,  —  a  Avonderful  young  man. 

BEAUSEANT. 

How  wonderful  ?  —  Are  his  cabbages  better  than 
other  people's  ? 

LAXDLOKD. 

Nay,  he  don't  garden  any  more  ;  his  father  left  him 
well  off.     He  's  only  a  genus. 

GLAVIS. 

A  what  ? 

LAXDLonn. 
A  genus  !  —  a  man  who  can  do  everything  in  life 
except  anything  that 's  useful ;  —  that 's  a  genus. 

P.EALSEAXT. 

You  raise  my  curiosity ;  —  pi'oeeed. 

LANDLORD. 

Well,  then,  al)out   four   years   ago,  old  INIelnotte 
died  and  left  his  son  well  to  do  in  the  world.     We 
2 


18  THE    LADY   OF    LYONS: 

then  all  observed  that  a  great  clianue  came  over 
young  Claude  :  he  took  to  reading  and  Latin,  and 
hired  a  professor  from  Lyons,  who  had  so  much  in 
his  head  that  he  was  forced  to  wear  a  great  full- 
bottom  wig  to  cover  it.  Then  he  took  a  fencing- 
master,  and  a  dancing-master,  and  a  music-master ; 
and  then  he  learned  to  paint ;  and  at  last  it  was  said 
that  young  Claude  was  to  go  to  Paris,  and  set  up  for 
a  painter.  The  lads  laughed  at  him  at  first ;  but  he 
is  a  stout  fellow,  is  Claude,  and  as  brave  as  a  lion, 
and  soon  taught  them  to  laugh  the  wrong  side  of 
their  mouths;  and  now  all  the  boys  swear  by  him, 
and  all  the  girls  pray  for  him. 

BEAUSKANT. 

A  promising  youth,  certainly  !  And  why  do  they 
call  him  Prince  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Partly  because  he  is  at  the  head  of  them  all,  and 
parti}-  because  he  has  such  a  proud  way  with  him, 
and  wears  such  fine  clothes,  —  and,  in  short,  looks  like 
a  prince. 

BEAUSEAXT. 

And  what  could  have  turned  the  foolish  fellow's 
brain  ?     The  Revolution,  I  suppose  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Yes,  —  the  Revolution  that  turns  us  all  tojisy-turvy, 
—  the  revolution  of  Love. 

P.KArSEANT. 

Romantic  young  Cor^don  I  And  with  whom  is  he 
in  love  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Why  —  but  it  is  a  secret,  gentlemen. 


OR,    LOVE    AND    PKIDE.  19 

BEAUSEANT. 

Oil !  cei-tainly. . 

LANDLORD. 

Why,  then,  I  hear  from  his  mother,  good  soul ! 
tliat  it  is  no  less  a  person  than  the  Beauty  of  Lyons, 
Pauline  Deschappelles. 

BEAUSEANT  ttlld  GLAVIS. 

Ha!  ha!  — Capital! 

LANDLORD. 

You  may  laugh,  but  it  is  as  true  as  I  stand  here. 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  what  does  the  Beauty  of  Lyons  say  to  his 
suit? 

LANDLORD. 

Lord,  sir,  she  never  even  condescended  to  look  at 
him,  though  when  he  was  a  boy  he  worked  in  her 
father's  garden. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

LANDLORD. 

His  mother  says  that  Mademoiselle  docs  not  know 
him  by  sight. 

BEAUSEANT  {taking  Glavis  aside). 

I  have  liit  it,  —  I  have  it ;  —  here  is  our  revenge  ■' 
Here  is  a  prince  for  our  haughty  damsel.  .  Do  you 
take  me  ? 

OLAVIS. 

Deuce  take  me  if  I  do  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Blockhead  !  —  it 's  as  clear  as  a  map.  What  if  we 
could  make  this  elegant  clown  pass  himself  oti'  as  a 


20  THK   LADY   OF   LYONS: 

foreign  prince?  —  lend  him  money,  clothes,  equipage 
for  the  purposed — nrake  him  propose  to  Pauline? 
—  many  Pauline ?     Would  it  not  be  delicious? 

GLAVIS. 

Ha  !  ha  !  —  Excellent !  But  how  shall  Ave  support 
the  necessary  expenses  of  his  highness  ? 

I5EAUSEANT. 

Pshaw !  Revenge  is  worth  a  much  larger  sacrifice 
than  a  few  hundred  louis ;  —  as  for  details,  my  valet 
is  the  trustiest  fellow  in  the  world,  and  shall  have  the 
appointment  of  his  highness's  establishment.  Let 's 
go  to  him  at  once,  and  see  if  he  be  really  thia  Admi- 
rable Crichton. 

GLAVIS. 

With  all  my  heart ;  —  but  the  dinner  ? 

BEAUSEAXT. 

Always  thinking  of  dinner !  Hark  ye,  landlord, 
how  ftir  is  it  to  young  Melnotte's  cottage?  I  should 
like  to  see  such  a  prodigy. 

L.VXDLORD. 

Turn  down  the  lane,  —  then  strike  across  the  com- 
mon,—  and  you  will  see  his  mother's  cottage. 

BEAUSEAXT. 

True,  he  lives  with  his  mother.  —  (Aside.')  We 
will  not  trust  to  an  old.  woman's  discretion;  better 
send  for  him  hither.  I  '11  just  step  in  and  write  him 
a  note.     Come,  Glavis. 

GLAVIS. 

Yes,  —  Beauseant,  Glavis,  and  Co.,  manufacturer 
of  princes,  wholesale  and  retail,  —  an  uncommonly 
genteel  line  of  business.     But  why  so  grave  ? 


OR,   LOVE   AXD   PRIDE.  21 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  think  only  of  the  sport,  —  I  of  the  revenge. 

[Exeunt  within  the  Inn, 


SCENE   III. 


Tlie  Interior  q/"  JIelnotte's  Cottage;  Jloioers  placed  here 
and  there  ;  a  r/uitcir  on  an  oaken  table,  with  a  jjortfolio, 
{fr. ;  a  picture  on  an  easel,  covered  by  a  curtain  ;  fencing- 
foils  crossed  over  the  mantelpiece ;  an  attempt  at  refine- 
ment in  spite  of  the  homeliness  of  the  furniture,  ifc. ;  a 
staircase  to  the  ric/hi  conducts  to  the  upper  story. 

{Shout  without.)  —  "  Long  live  Claude  Melnotte  !  " 
"  Long  live  the  Prince  ! " 

THE    WIDOW   MELNOTTE. 

Hark  !  —  there  's  my  dear  son  ;  —  carried  off  the 
prize,  I  'm  sure ;  and  now  he  '11  want  to  treat  them 
all. 

CLAUDE  MELNOTTE  {opening  the  door). 
What !  you  will  not  come  in,  my  friends !     Well, 
well,  —  there's  a  trifle   to   make  merry  elsewhere. 
Good  day  to  you  all,  —  good  day  ! 

(Shout.)  —  "  Hurrah  !    Long  live  Prince  Claude  !  " 
Enter  Claude  Melnotte,  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand. 

MELNOTTE. 

Give  me  joy,  dear  mother !  I  've  won  the  prize  ! 
—  never  missed  one  shot !  Is  it  not  handsome,  this 
gun  V 

WIDOW. 

Humph  !  —  Well,  wliat  is  it  worth,  Claude  ? 


22  THi:    I.ADY    OF    LYONS  : 

MELXOTTE. 

Worth !  Wliat  is  a  ribbon  worth  to  a  soldic  ? 
Worth  I  everything  !     Glory  is  priiele&s ! 

WIDOW. 

Leave  glor^-  to  great  folks.  Ah  !  Claude,  Claude, 
castles  in  the  air  cost  a  vast  deal  to  keep  up  !  How 
is  all  this  to  end?  "\Miat  good  does  it  do  thee  to 
learn  Latin,  and  sing  songs,  and  play  on  the  guitar, 
and  fence,  and  dance,  and  paint  pictures  ?  AH  very- 
fine  ;  but  what  does  it  bring  in  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Wealth !    wealth,   my   mother !  —  Wealth   to   the 
mind,  —  wealth    to   the    heart,  —  high    thoughts,  — 
bright  dreams,  —  the  hope  of  fame,  —  the  eimbitioa 
to  be  worthier  to  love  Pauline. 
^vIDOw. 

^ly  poor  son  !  —  The  young  lady  will  never  think 
of  thee. 

MELXOTTE. 

Do  the  stars  think  of  us  V  Yet  if  the  prisoner  see 
them  shine  into  his  dungeon,  wouldst  thou  bid  him 
turn  away  from  their  lustre  'i  Even  so  from  this  low 
cell,  poverty,  I  lift  my  eyes  to  Pauline  and  forget 
my  chains. —  (Goes'  to  the  picture  and  draws  aside 
the  cwtainJ)  See.  this  is  her  image,  —  painted  from 
memory.  —  Oh.  how  the  canvas  wrongs  her !  — 
( Tales  up  the  brush  and  throws  it  aside.)  —  I  shall 
never  be  a  painter !  I  can  paint  no  likeness  but 
one,  and  that  is  above  all  art  I  would  turn  soldier, 
—  France  needs  soldiers  I  But  to  leave  the  air  that 
Pauline  breathes!     What   is  the   hour?  —  so  late? 


OS.    LOVE    AND    PRIDEU  23 

I  will  tell  thee  a  secret,  mother.  Thou  knowest  that 
for  the  last  six  weeks  I  have  sent  every  day  the 
rarest  flowers  to  Pauline? — she  wears  theni.  I 
have  seen  them  on  her  breast.  Ah,  and  then  the 
whole  universe  seemed  filled  with  odors!  I  have 
now  grown  more  bold,  —  I  have  poured  my  worship 
into  poetrj-,  —  I  have  sent  the  verses  to  Pauline.  — 
I  have  signed  them  with  my  own  name.  My  mes- 
senger ought  to  be  back  by  this  time.  I  bade  hitn 
wait  for  the  cuiswer. 

WIDOW. 

And  what  answer  do  you  expect,  Claude  ? 

MELXOTTE. 

That  which  the  Queen  of  Xavarre  sent  to  the 
poor  troubadour :  — "  Let  me  see  the  Oracle  that 
can  tell  nations  I  am  beautiful ! "  She  will  admit 
me.  I  shall  hear  her  speak,  —  I  shall  meet  her  eyes, 
—  I  shall  read  ujx)n  her  cheek  the  sweet  thoughts 
that  translate  themselves  into  blushes.  Then  — 
then,  oh.  then —  she  may  for^t  that  I  am  the  peas- 
ant's son  I 

■WIDOW. 

Xay,  if  she  will  but  hear  thee  talk,  Claude  "? 

MELNOTTE. 

I  foresee  it  all.  She  will  tell  me  that  desert  is  the 
true  rank.  She  will  give  me  a  badge.  —  a  flower.  — 
a  glove!  Oh  rapture!  I  shall  join  the  armies  of 
the  Republic,  —  I  shall  rise,  —  I  shall  win  a  name 
that  beauty  will  not  blush  to  hear.  I  shall  return 
with  the  right  to  say  to  her  —  ••  See.  how  love  does 
not  level  the  proud,  but  raise  the  humble!"     Oh, 


24  THK    LADY    OF    I.YOXS : 

how  my  heai't  swells  within  me  !  —  Oh,  what  glorious 
Prophets  of  the  Future  are  Youth  and  Hope  ! 

IKiwck  at  Uie  door- 

WIDOW. 

Come  in. 

Enter  Gasi'ak. 

MELNOTTK. 

Welcome,  Gaspar,  welcome.  Where  is  the  letter  ? 
AVhy  do  jou  turn  away,  man  ?  where  is  the  letter ? 
(Gaspar  gives  Jtim  one.')  This !  This  is  mine,  the 
one  I  intrusted  to  thee.     Didst  thou  not  leave  it  ? 

GASPAIJ. 

Yes,  I  left  it. 

MELXOTTE. 

My  own  verses  returned  to  me.     Nothing  else  ? 

GASPAR. 

Thou  wilt  be  proud  to  hear  how  thy  messenger 
■was  honored.  For  thy  sake,  ]\Ielnotte,  I  have  borne 
that  which  no  Frenclmian  can  bear  without  disgrace. 

MELXOTTE. 

Disgrace,  Gaspar  !     Disgrace  ? 

CASPAR. 

I  gave  thy  letter  to  the  porter,  who  passed  it  from 
lackey  to  lackey  till  it  reached  the  lady  it  was  meant 
for. 

MELXOTTE. 

It  reached  her,  then  ;  —  you  are  sure  of  that  ?  It 
reached  her,  —  well,  well ! 

CASPAR. 

It  reached  her,  and  was  returned  to  me  with 
blows.     Dost  hear,  Melnotte  ?  with  blows  !     Death  ! 


OR,    LOVE    AXD   PRIDE.  25 

are  we  slaves  still,  that  we  are  to  be  thus  dealt  with, 
we  j^uasants  ? 

MELXOTTE. 

With  blows  ?     No,  Gaspar,  no  ;  not  blows  ! 

GASrAR. 

I  could  show  thee  the  marks  if  it  were  not  so  deep 
a  shame  to  bear  them.  The  lackey  who  tossed  thy 
letter  into  the  mire  swore  that  his  lady  and  her 
motlier  never  were  so  insulted.  What  could  thy 
letter  contain,  Claude  V 

MELNOTTE  (lookinr/  over  (he  letter). 

Not  a  line  that  a  serf  might  not  have  written  to  an 
empress.     No,  not  one. 

CASPAR. 

They  promise  thee  the  same  greeting  they  gave 
me,  if  thou  wilt  pass  that  way.  Shall  we  endure 
this,  Claude  V 

MEi.NOTTE  {wringinrj  Caspar's  hand). 

Forgive  me,  the  fault  was  mine,  I  have  brought 
this  on  thee ;  I  will  not  forget  it ;  thou  shalt  be 
avenged  !     The  heartless  insolence  ! 

GASPAR. 

Thou  art  moved,  Melnotte ;  think  not  of  me ;  I 
would  go  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  thee  ;  but 
—  a  blow  !  It  is  not  the  bruise  that  galls,  —  it  is  the 
blush,  Melnotte. 

JIEI/NOTTE. 

Say,  what  message  ?  —  Ilow  insulted  ?  —  Where- 
fore ?  —  AVhat  the  ofTencc  ? 

CASPAR. 

Did  yon  not  wi-ite  to  Pauline  Deschappelles,  the 
daughter  of  the  rich  merchant? 


26  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS: 

JIKLXOTTK. 

Well?  — 

CASPAR. 

And  are  you  not  a  peasant,  —  a  gardener's  son  ?  — 
that  was  the  offence.  Sleep  on  it,  Melnotte.  Blows 
to  a  French  citizen,  blows ! 

WIDOW. 

Now  you  are  cured,  Claude  ! 

MELNOTTE  (^tearing  the  letter). 

So  do  I  scatter  her  image  to  the  winds,  —  I  will 
stop  her  in  the  open  streets,  —  I  will  insult  her,  — 

I  will  beat  her  menial  ruflians,  —  I  will (  Turns 

suddt'niij  to  Widow.}     Llother,  am  I  humpbacked, — 
deformed,  —  hideous  ? 

WIDOW. 

You ! 

BIELNOTTE. 

A  coward,  —  a  thief,  —  a  liar  ? 

WIDOW. 

You! 

JIEI.NOTTE. 

Or  a  dull  fool,  —  a  vain,  drivelling,  brainless  idiot  ? 

WIDOW. 

No,  no. 

MELXOTTE. 

What  am  I  then  —  worse  than  all  these  ?  Why, 
I  am  a  peasant!  What  has  a  peasant  to  do  with 
love  ?  A'^ain  Revolutions,  why  lavish  your  cruelty 
on  the  great  ?  Oh  that  we  —  we,  the  hcAvers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water,  had  been  swept  away, 


OR,    LOVK    AND    PRrD3.  27 

SO  that  the  proud  might  learn  what  the  world  would 
be  without  us  !  — 

[Knock  at  the  door. 
Enter  Servant y/'tiw  the  Inn. 

SEKVANT. 

A  letter  for  Citizen  Melnotte. 

MKLNOTTE. 

A  letter  !  from  her  perhaps.      Who  sent  thee  ? 

SEltVAXT. 

Why,  JMonsieur  —  I  mean  Citizen  —  Beauseant, 
who  stops  to  dine  at  the  Golden  Lion,  on  his  way  to 
his  chateau. 

MELNOTTE. 

Beauseant !  —  (Reads.) 

"  Young  man,  I  know  thy  secret,  —  thou  lovest 
above  thy  station  :  if  thou  hast  wit,  courage,  and 
discretion,  I  can  secure  to  thee  the  realization  of  thy 
most  sanguine  hopes ;  and  the  sole  condition  I  ask  in 
return  is,  that  tliou  shalt  be  steadfast  to  thine  own 
ends.  I  shall  demand  from  thee  a  solemn  oath  to 
marry  her  whom  thou  lovest;  to  bear  her  to  thine 
home  on  thy  wedding  niglit.  I  am  serious,  —  if  thou 
Avouldst  learn  more,  lose  not  a  moment,  but  follow 
the  bearer  of  this  letter  to  thy  friend  and  patron,  — 

ClIAKLES  BeAUSKANT." 

5IELNOTTE. 

Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  Are  our  own  passions 
the  sorcerers  that  raise  up  for  us  spirits  of  good  or 
evil  ?     I  will  go  instantly. 

WIDOW. 

What  is  this,  Claude  ? 


28  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS: 

MELNOTTE. 

"  !Marry  her  whom  thou  lovest,"  —  "  boar  her  to 
thine  own  home."  —  O,  revenge  and  love  ;  which  of 
3"ou  is  the  stronger?  —  (^Gazing  on  the  picture.) 
Sweet  face,  thou  smilest  on  me  from  the  canvas  : 
weak  fool  that  I  am,  do  I  then  love  her  still  ?  No, 
it  is  the  vision  of  my  own  romance  that  I  have  wor- 
shipped :  it  is  the  reality  to  whicli  I  bring  scorn  for 
scorn.  Adieu,  mother :  I  will  return  anon.  My 
brain  reels,  —  the  earth  swims  before  me.  —  (Looks 
again  at  the  letter.)  'So,  it  is  nut  a  mockery  ;  I  do 
not  dream ! 

[Exit. 


OR,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  29 


ACT    11. 

ScEXE  I.  —  The  Gardens  ofM.  Dkschappelles'  House  at 
Lyons  —  the  House  seen  at  the  back  of  the  starje. 

Enter  Beauseaxt  and  Glavis. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Well,  what  think  you  of  my  plot  ?  Has  it  not  suc- 
ceeded to  a  miracle  ?  The  instant  that  I  introduced 
His  Highness  the  Prince  of  Como  to  the  pompous 
mother  and  the  scornful  daughter,  it  was  all  over 
with  them  :  he  came  —  he  saw  —  he  conquered ; 
and,  though  it  is  not  many  days  since  he  arrived,  they 
have  already  promised  him  the  hand  of  Pauline. 

GLAVIS. 

It  is  luck}-,  though,  that  )0U  told  them  his  High- 
ness travelled  incognito,  for  fear  the  Director}'  (who 
are  not  very  fond  of  princes)  should  lay  him  by  the 
heels ;  for  he  has  a  wonderful  wish  to  keep  up  his 
rank,  and  scatters  our  gold  about  with  as  nuich  cool- 
ness as  if  he  were  watering  his  own  llower-pots. 

ISEAUSEANT. 

True,  he  is  damnably  extravagant ;  I  think  the 
sly  dog  does  it  out  of  malice.  However,  it  nuist  be 
owned  that  he  reflects  credit  on  his  loyal  subjects, 
and  makes  a  very  pretty  figure  in  his  fine  clothes, 
with  my  diamond  snuff-box  — 

(iLAVIS. 

And  my  diamond  ring-!     But  do  you  think  he  will 


30  THE   LADl'   OF    LYOXS: 

be  finn  to  tlic  last  ?  I  fency  I  see  symptoms  of  re- 
lentlno;:  lie  will  never  keep  U])  liis  rank,  if  he  once 
let  out  his  consuience. 

BE  A  USE  A  NT. 

Ilis  oath  binds  him ;  he  cannot  retract  without  be- 
ing forsworn,  and  those  low  fellows  are  always  super- 
stitious !  But,  as  it  is,  I  tremble  lest  he  be  dis- 
covered :  that  blutr  Colonel  Damas  (Madame  Des- 
chappollcs'  cousin)  evidently  suspects  him  :  we  must 
make  haste  and  conclude  the  farce  ;  I  have  thought 
of  a  plan  to  end  it  this  very  day. 

OLA  VIS. 

This  very  day  !  Poor  Pauline  :  her  dream  will  be 
soon  over. 

REAUSEANT. 

Yes,  this  day  they  shall  be  married  ;  this  evening, 
according  to  his  oath,  he  shall  cai-ry  his  bride  to  the 
Golden  Lion,  and  then  pomp,  equipage,  retinue,  and 
title,  all  shall  vanish  at  once ;  and  her  Highness  the 
Princess  shall  find  that  she  has  refused  the  son  of  a 
]\lar([uis,  to  marry  the  son  of  a  Gardener.  Oh, 
Pauline!  once  loved,  now  hated,  yet  still  not  relin- 
quished, thou  shalt  drain  the  cup  to  the  dregs,  — 
thou  shalt  know  what  it  is  to  be  humbled  ! 

Enter  from  the  noiise,  Melnotte,  as  the  Prince  of  Conio, 
leadhifj  in  Pauline*;  Mada:«e  Desciiappelles,  Jcin- 
niny  herself;   and  Colonel  Dajias. 

[Beauseant  and  Glavis  how  respectfully.    Pauline 
and  Melnotte  walk  apart. 

MADAME  DESCHAPPELLES. 

Good  morning,  gentlemen ;  really  I  am  so  fatigued 


OR,    LOVE   AND    PRIDE.  31 

■with  laughter;  the  dear  Prince  is  so  entertaining. 
AA^liat  wit  lie  has !  Any  one  may  see  that  he  has 
spent  liis  whole  life  in  courts. 

DAMAS. 

And  what  the  deuce  do  yon  know  about  courts, 
cousin  Deschappelles  ?  You  women  regard  men  just 
as  j'ou  buy  books,  —  }ou  ne^'er  care  about  what  is  in 
them,  but  how  they  are  bound  and  lettered.  S'death, 
I  don't  think  you  would  even  look  at  }'Our  Bible  if  it 
had  not  a  title  to  it. 

MADAMK   DESCIIAPPELLES. 

How  coai-se  you  are,  cousin  Damas !  —  quite  the 
manners  of  a  barrack,  —  you  don't  deserve  to  be  one 
of  our  family  ;  really  we  must  drop  your  acquaint- 
ance when  Pauline  marries.  I  cannot  patronize  any 
relations  that  would  discredit  my  future  son-in-law, 
the  Prince  of  Como. 

MELNOTTE  (admncin/j). 

These  are  beautiful  gardens,  ]\Iadame,  —  (Beau- 
SEANT  and  Glavis  retire,)  —  wlio  plauneil  them  ? 

M.A.DAME   nESCHAI'PELLES. 

A  gardener  named  Melnotte,  your  Highness,  —  an 
honest  man  who  knew  his  station.  I  can't  say  as 
much  for  his  son,  —  a  presuming  fellow,  who  —  ha ! 
ha  !  actually  wrote  verses  —  such  doggerel  I  —  to 
iny  daughter. 

PAULINE. 

Yes,  how  you  would  have  laughed  at  them,  Prince  ! 
—  i/ou  who  write  such  beaiiliiid  verses! 
:Mi;r.X()TTi;. 

This  ISIelnotte  must  be  a  monstrous  impudent 
person  ! 


32  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  : 

DAMAS. 

Is  he  good-looking  ? 

MADA5IE   Dp;SCnAPrELLES. 

I  never  notice  such  canaille,  —  an  ugly,  mean- 
looking  clown,  if  I  remember  right. 

DAMAS. 

■  Yet  I  heard  }-our  porter  say  he  was  wondei-fully 
like  his  Highness. 

JIELXOTTE  (tal-inr/  smiff.) 
You  are  complimentary. 

MADAME  DESCHAPPELLES. 

For  shame,  cousin  Damas !  —  like  the  Prince,  in- 
deed! 

PAULINE. 

Like  you !  Ah,  mother,  like  our  beautiful  Prince  ! 
I  '11  ue^er  speak  to  you  again,  cousin  Damas. 

5IELXOTTE  {ttsick). 

Humph  !  —  rank  is  a  groat  beautifier !  I  never 
passed  for  an  Apollo  ■while  I  was  a  peasant ;  if  I  am 
so  handsome  as  a  prince,  Avhat  should  I  be  as  an 
emperor  ?  —  (Aloud.)  Monsieur  Beauseant,  will  you 
honor  me  ? 

[  Offers  srrnff. 

BEAUSEANT. 

No,  your  Highness ;  I  have  no  small  vices. 

MELXOTTE. 

Nay,  if  it  were  a  vice  you  'd  be  sure  to  have  it, 
iMonsieur  Beauseant. 

MADAME   DESCHArPELLES. 

Ha  !  ha  !  —  how  very  se\ere  !  —  what  wit ! 

BEAUSEANT  {in  a  rage  and  aside). 
Curse  his  impertinence  ! 


OU,    LOVE   AXD  PKIDE.  33 

3IADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

What  a  superb  snuif-box  ! 

PAULINE. 

And  what  a  beautiful  ring  ! 

JlELXoTTE. 

You  like  the  box,  —  a  trllle,  —  interesting  perhaps 

from  assoL-iations,  —  a  present  from  Louis  XIV.  to  niy 

great-great-grandmother.     Honor  me  by  accepting  it. 

BEAUSEANT  (plucTchig  him  by  the  sleeve). 

How  !  —  what   the    devil !     My   box,  —  are    you 

mad  ?     It  is  worth  five  hundred  louis. 

MELNOTTE  {unheeding  him,  and  turning  to  pauline). 
And  you  like  this  ring  ?     Ah,  it  has,  indeed,  a 
lustre  since  your  ej'es  have  shone  on  it.    (^Placing  it  on 
her  finger.')     Henceforth  hold  me,  sweet  enchantress, 
the  Slave  of  the  Ring. 

GLAVis  (pulling  him). 
Stay,  stay  —  what  are   you  aboiit  ?     ]My  maiden 
aunt's  legacy,  —  a  diamond  of  the  first  water.     You 
shall  be  hanged  for  swindling.  Sir. 

jiELXOTTE  (pretending  not  to  hear). 
It  is  curious,  this  ring;  it  is  the  one  with  which 
mj'  grandfather,  the  Uoge  of  Venice,  married   the 
Adriatic  ! 

[ilADAME  and  Pauline  examine  the  ring. 
MELNOTTE  (to  Beauseant  and  Glavis). 
Fie,  gendenien,  princes  must  be  generous !  — 
(^Turntt  to  Damas,  who  vxttchea  them  closely.)  These 
kind  friends  have  my  interest  so  much  at  heart,  that 
they  are  as  careful  of  my  property  as  if  It  were  their 
own  ! 

3 


34  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS-. 

BKAUSEAXT  fMlC?  GLAYIS  (confusedllj). 

Ha  !  ha !  —  very  good  joke  that ! 
[Ajjpem-  to  remonstrate  ivith  JIelnottjc  in  dumb  show. 

DAM  AS. 

What 's  all  that  whispering  ?  I  am  sure  there  is 
some  juggle  here :  hang  me,  if  I  think  he  is  an 
It'alian  after  all.  Gad !  I  '11  try  him.  Servitore 
umillissimo,  Eccellenza.* 

MELNOTTK. 

Hum  —  what  does  he  mean,  I  wonder  ? 

DAJIAS. 

Godo  di  vedervi  In  buona  salute.f 

MELNOTTE. 

Hem  —  hem  ! 

D  All  AS. 

Fa  bel  tempo  —  elie  si  dice  di  nuovo  ?  % 

:Mn:LNOTTE. 
Well,  Sir,  Avhat  's  all  that  gibberish  ? 

DAM  AS. 

Oh,  oh  !  —  only  Italian,  your  Highness  !  —  The 
Prince  of  Como  does  not  understand  his  own  lan- 
guage ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Not  as  you  pronounce  it ;  who  the  deuce  could  ? 

JIADAME   DESCH.A.PPEI,LES. 

Ha !  ha  !  cousin  Damas,  never  pretend  to  what 
vou  don't  know. 


*  Your  Excellency's  most  Imiiilile  servant, 
t  1  am  glad  to  see  you  in  good  liealtli. 
t  Fine  weather.    What  news  is  there  ? 


OR,   LOVE   AND   PRIDK.  35 

PAULINE. 

ITa  !  ha!  cousin  Danias;  you  speak  Italian,  indeed! 
[Makes  a  mochinrj  gesture  at  him. 

BEAUSEANT  (to  GLAVIS.) 

Clever  dog !  —  how  ready  ! 

GLAVIS. 

Ready,  yes  ;  with  my  diamond  ring !  —  Damn  his 
readiness ! 

DAMAS. 

Laugh  at  me  !  —  laugh  at  a  Colonel  in  the  French 
army!  —  the  fellow's  an  impostor;  I  know  he  is. 
I  '11  see  if  he  understands  fighting  as  well  as  he  does 
Italian.  —  (Goes  up  to  him,  and  aside. ^  Sir,  you  are 
a  jackanapes  !  —  Can  you  construe  that  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  Sir ;  I  never  construe  affronts  in  the  presence 
of  ladies ;  by  and  by  I  shall  be  happy  to  take  a 
lesson  —  or  give  one. 

BAMAS. 

I  '11  find  the  occasion,  never  fear ! 

MADAJIE    DESCHAPl'ELLES. 

Where  are  }'ou  going,  cousin  ? 

UAJIAS. 

To  correct  my  Italian. 

[Exit. 

BEAUSEANT  (to  GlAVIS). 

Let  US  after,  and  pacify  him ;  he  evidently  suspects 
something. 

GLAVIS. 

Yes  !  —  but  my  diamond  ring ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  my  ])ox  I  —  We  are   over-taxed,  fellow-sub- 


36  TIIK    LADY    OF    LYONS : 

jects  !  —  we  must  stop  the  supplies  and  dethrone  the 
Prince. 

GLAVIS. 

Prince !  —  he  ought  to  be  heir-apparent  to  King 
Stork! 

[Exeunt  Beauseast  and  Glavis. 

MADAME  BESCHAPPIiLT-KS. 

Dare  I  ask  your  Highness  to  forgive  my  cousin's 
insufferable  vulgarity  ? 

PAULIXE. 

Oh,  yes !  —  you  will  forgive  his  manner  for  the 
sake  of  his  heart. 

JIELNOTTE. 

And  the  sake  of  his  cousin.  —  Ah,  IMadame,  thei'e 
is  one  comfort  in  rank,  —  we  are  so  sure  of  our  posi- 
tion that  we  are  not  easily  atfrontod.  Besides,  M. 
Damas  has  bought  the  riglit  of  indulgence  from  his 
friends,  by  ne\er  showing  it  to  liis  enemies. 

PAULINE. 

Ah !  he  is,  indeed,  as  brave  in  action  as  he  is  rude 
in  speech.  He  rose  from  the  ranks  to  his  present 
grade,  —  and  in  two  years ! 

MELXOTTE. 

In  two  years  !  —  two  years,  did  you  say  ? 

MADAME  DESCHAPPELl-ES  (asuh). 

I  don't  like  leaving  girls  alone  with  their  lovers; 
but,  with  a  jJi'hice,  it  would  be  so  ill-bred  to  be 
prudish. 

[E^it. 

■MFA.yOTTF.. 

You  can  be  proud  of  your  connection  with  one 
who  owes  his  position  to  merit,  —  not  bii-th. 


OR,   LOVE   AXD    PRIDE.  37 

PAULINE. 

AYhy,  yes ;  but  still  — 

:melnotte. 
Still  what,  Pauline  ! 

PAULINE. 

There  is  something  glorious  in  the  Heritage  of 
Command.  A  man  avIio  has  ancestors  is  like  a  Rep- 
resentative of  the  Past. 

JIELNOTTE. 

True ;  but,  like  other  representatives,  nine  times 
out  of  ten  he  is  a  silent  member.  Ah,  Pauline  !  not 
to  the  Past,  but  to  the  Future,  looks  true  nobility, 
and  finds  its  blazon  in  posterity. 

PAULINE. 

You  say  this  to  please  me,  who  have  no  ancestors ; 
but  you,  Prince,  must  be  proud  of  so  illustrious  a 
race ! 

5IELN0TTE. 

No,  no  !  I  would  not,  were  I  fifty  times  a  prince, 
be  a  pensioner  on  the  Dead  !  I  honor  birth  and 
ancestry  when  they  are  regarded  as  the  incentives 
to  exertion,  not  the  title-deeds  to  sloth  !  I  honor  the 
laurels  that  overshadow  the  graves  of  our  fathers  ;  — 
it  is  our  fathers  I  emulate,  when  I  desire  that  be- 
neath the  evergreen  I  mjself  have  planted  my  own 
ashes  may  repose !  Dearest !  couldst  thou  but  see 
with  my  ej'cs ! 

PAULINE. 

I  cannot  forego  pride  when  I  look  on  thee,  and 
think  that  thou  lovest  me.  Sweet  Prince,  tell  me 
again  of  thy  palace  by  the  Lake  of  Como ;  it  is  so 


38  THE   LADY   OK   LYOXS  : 

pleasant  to  hear  of  thy  splendors  since  thou  didst 
swear  to  me  that  they  would  be  desolate  Avithont 
Pauline  ;  and  when  thou  describest  them,  it  is  with 
a  mocking  lip  and  a  noble  scorn,  as  if  custom  had 
made  thee  disdain  greatness. 

IMi;i,X()TTK. 

Nay,  dearest,  nay,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me  paint 
The  home  to  wliich,  could  Love  fulfil  its  prayers, 
This  hand  would  lead  thee,  listen  !  *  —  A  deep  vale 
Shut  out  by  Alpine  hills  from  the  rude  world ; 
Near  a  clear  lake,  margined  by  fruits  of  gold 
And  whispering  myrtles;  glassing  softest  skies 
As  cloudless,  save  with  rare  and  roseate  shadows. 
As  I  would  have  thy  fate  ! 

PAULINE. 

INIy  own  dear  love ! 

JIELNOTTE. 

A  palace  lifting  to  eternal  summer 

Its  marble  walls,  from  out  a  gloss}-  bower 

Of  coolest  foliage  musical  with  birds, 

"Whose  songs  sliould  syllable  thy  name !    At  noon 


*  The  reader  will  observe  that  Melnotto  evade?  the  request  of 
Pauline.  lie  proceeds  to  describe  a  home,  wliich  he  does  not  say 
lie  possesses,  but  to  which  lie  would  lead  her,  ''  could  Lnvc  fuljil  its 
prayers,"  This  caution  is  intended  as  a  reply  to  a  sajiacious  critic 
who  censures  the  description,  because  it  is  not  an  exact  and  prosaic 
inventory  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Lake  of  Comol  —  When 
Rlelnotte,  for  instance,  talks  of  birds  "that  syllable  the  name  of 
Pauline,"  (by  the  way  a  literal  translation  from  an  Italian  poet,) 
iie  is  not  thinking  of  ornithology,  but  probably  of  the  Arabian 
Nislits.  He  is  ventins  the  extravagant,  but  natural,  enthusiasm 
of  the  Poet  and  the  hover. 


OK,    LOVK    AND    I'KIDE.  39 

"We  'd  sit  beneath  tlie  arcliing  vines,  and  wonder 

AVhy  Earth  could  be  unhappy,  while  the  Heavens 

Still  left  us  youth  and  love  !    We  'd  have  no  friends 

That  were  not  lovers ;  no  ambition,  save 

To  excel  them  all  in  love  ;  we  'd  read  no  books 

That  were  not  tales  of  love,  —  that  we  might  smile 

To  think  how  poorly  eloquence  of  words 

Translates  the  poetry  of  hearts  like  ours ! 

And  when  night  came,  amidst  the  breathless  Heavens 

We  'd  guess  what  star  should  be  our  home  when  love 

Becomes  immortal ;  while  the  perfumed  light 

Stole  through  the  mists  of  alabaster  lamps, 

And  every  air  was  heavy  with  the  sighs 

Of  orange-groves  and  music  from  sweet  lutes, 

And  murmers  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth 

I'  the  midst  of  roses  !  —  Dost  thou  like  the  picture  ? 

PAULIXi;. 

Oh,  as  the  bee  uoon  the  flower,  I  hang 
Upon  the  honey  of  thy  eloquent  tongue  ! 
Am  I  not  blest  ?    And  if  I  love  too  wildly, 
AV^ho  would  not  love  thee  like  Pauline  ? 

MELNOTTK  {bitterly). 

Oh,  false  one ! 
It  is  the  prince  thou  lovest,  not  the  man  : 
If  in  the  stead  of  luxury,  ])omp,  and  power, 
I  had  painted  poverty,  and  toil,  and  care, 
Thou  hadst  found  no  honey  on  my  tongue  ;  —  Pauline, 
That  is  not  love  ! 

rAULINK. 

Thou  wrong'st  me,  cruel  Prince  ! 
At  first,  in  truth,  I  might  not  have  been  won. 


40  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS : 

Save  through  the  weakness  of  a  flattered  pride  ; 
But  noil-  —  Oh  !  trust  me,  —  couldst  thou  fall  from 

power 
And  sink  — 

JtELXOTTE, 

As  low  as  that  poor  gardener's  son 
Who  dared  to  lift  his  eyes  to  thee  ?  — 

I'.VULIKK. 

Even  then, 
Methinks  thou  wouldst  be  only  made  more  dear 
By  the  sweet  thought  that  I  eould  prove  how  deep 
Is  woman's  love !    AV^e  are  like  the  insects,  caught 
By  the  poor  glittering  of  a  garish  flame  ; 
But,  oh,  the  wings  once  scorched,  the  brightest  star 
Lures  us  no  more ;  and  by  the  fatal  light 
We  cling  till  death  ! 

aiELXOTTE. 

Angel ! 

(^Asidc.')     O  conscience  !  conscience  ! 
It  must  not  be;  —  her  love  hath  grown  a  torture 
A\^orse  than  her   hate.     I  Avill  at  once  to  Beauseant, 
And ha !   he  comes. Sweet   love,  one   mo- 
ment leave  me. 
I  have  business  with  these  gentlemen  —  I  —  I 
Will  forthwith  join  you. 

PAULIXK. 

Do  not  tarry  long  ! 
Enter  Bic.vusEANT  and  Glavis. 

:\!I".LNOTTE. 

Release  me  from  my  oath,  —  I  will  not  marry  her ! 


OR,   LOVE   AXD   PRIDE.  41 

BEAUSEANT. 

Then  tliou  art  perjured. 

JIELXOTTE. 

No,  I  was  not  iu  my  senses  when  I  swore  to  thee 
to  marry  her  !  I  was  blind  to  all  but  ber  scorn  !  — 
deaf  to  all  but  my  passion  and  my  rage !  Give  me 
back  my  poverty  and  my  honor ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

It  is  too  late,  —  you  must  marry  her !  and  this  day. 
I  have  a  story  already  coined,  and  sure  to  pass  cur- 
rent. This  Damas  suspects  thee,  —  he  will  set  the 
police  to  work  ;  —  thou  wilt  be  detected,  —  Pauline 
will  despise  and  execrate  thee.  Thou  wilt  be  sent  to 
the  common  gaol  as  a  swindler. 

MELNOTTE. 

Fiend ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  in  the  heat  of  the  girl's  resentment  (you 
know  of  what  resentment  is  capable)  and  the  par- 
ents' shame,  she  will  be  induced  to  marry  the 
first  that  offers,  —  even  perhaps  your  humble  ser- 
vant. 

MELNOTTE. 

You  !  No ;  that  were  worse,  —  for  thou  hast  no 
mercy!  I  will  marry  her, — I  will  keep  my  oath. 
Quick,  then,  with  the  danmable  invention  thou  art 
hatching ;  —  cpiick,  if  thou  Avouldst  not  have  me 
strangle  thee  or  myself. 

GI-AVIS. 

"What  a  tiger !  Too  fierce  for  a  prince ;  —  he 
ou<rht  to  have  been  the  (jlrand  Turk. 


-12  Tnn  i..vr>Y  ok  lyoxs: 

r.KMSKANT. 

Kuough,  —  I  will  ili'spatih  ;  be  proiKirod. 

[  luruiit   Rkavsk.vnt  and  Glavis. 
iMter  Damas  trilh  firo  swonk. 

DAM  AS. 

Now,  then.  Sir,  the  ladies  are  no  longer  your  ex- 
cuse. I  have  brought  yon  a  couple  ot'dietionaries ; 
let  us  see  it" your  llighnej^s  can  lind  out  the  Latin  lor 
hllbo. 

M  Kl.NOTTK. 

Away,  Sir!  —  I  am  in  no  humor  for  jesting. 

PV>1AS. 

I  see  yon  understand  something  of  the  granuuar; 
you  decline  the  noim-snbstautive  "  small  sword " 
■with  great  ease  ;  but  that  won't  do,  —  you  must  take 
a  lesson  in  parsin<j. 

MKLXOTTE. 

Fool ! 

PAMAS. 

Sir,  —  as  sons  take  after  their  mother,  so  the  mau 
who  calls  me  a  fiK)l  insults  the  lixuv  who  bore  me : 
tiierc  's  no  escape  for  you,  —  light  you  shail,  or  — 

51  Kl-NOTTh:. 

Oh,  enough  !  enough  !  —  take-  your  givund. 
[They^fiffht ;  Dxyixs  Is  disarmett     ^Iki.nottk  tnkes  iq> 
(he  st(t>nl  ami  reftiriig  it  to  Damas  i-ispnt/itlhi. 

A  just  punishment  to  the  brave  soldier  who  nibs 
the  State  of  its  best  property,  —  the  sole  right  to  his 
valor  and  his  lite. 

P  \M  AS. 

Sir,  you  fence  exceedingly  well ;  you  must  be  a 


OR,   LOVK   AND    PRIDE.  43 

man  of  honor — I  don't  care  a  jot  whether  you  are 
a  prince  ;  l>ut  a  man  who  has  carte  and  tierce  at  his 
fingers'  ends  must  be  a  gentleman. 
Mi;i.Nl)TTK  (dside). 

Gentleman !  Aj-,  I  was  a  gentleman  before  I 
turned  conspirator ;  for  honest  men  are  the  gentle- 
men of  Nature !  Colonel,  they  tell  me  you  rose  from 
the  ranks. 

DAMAS. 
I  did. 

MKI.XOTTK. 

And  in  two  years  ? 

DAJIAS. 

It  is  true-;  that's  no  wonder  in  our  army  at  pres- 
ent. Why,  the  oldest  general  in  the  service  Is 
scarcely  thirty,  and  we  have  some  of  two-and-twenty. 

MELXOTTK. 

Two-and-twenty ! 

PAMAS. 

Yes;  in  the  French  army,  now-a-days,  promotion 
is  not  a  matter  of  purchase.  We  are  all  heroes, 
Ijccause  we  may  be  all  generals.  We  have  no  fear 
of  the  cypress,  because  we  may  all  hope  for   the 

laurel. 

MELXOTTK- 

A  general  at  two-and-twenty!  ((uritiiifj  aira>/)  — 
Sir,  T  may  ask  vou  a  lavor  one  of  these  days. 

DAMAS. 

Sir,  T  shall  be  proud  to  grant  it.  It  is  astonishing 
how  much  1  like  a  man  after  I  've  fought  wilh  him. 

[//ides  the  swords. 


44  THE   LADY   OF    LYONS: 

Enter  Madame  DEscHAPrELi^KS  and  Beauseant. 

MADA5rE    DESCIIAPPELLES. 

Oh,  Prince  !  —  Prince  !  —  AVliat  do  I  hear  ?  You 
must  fly,  you  must  quit  us  ! 

melnotte. 
I!  — 

BEAUSEANT. 

Tes,  Prince :  read  this  letter,  just  received  from 
my  friend  at  Paris,  one  of  the  Directory ;  they  sus- 
pect you  of  designs  against  the  Republic ;  they  are 
very  suspicious  of  princes,  and  your  family  take  part 
with  the  Austrians.  Knowing  that  I  introduced 
your  Highness  at  Lyons,  my  friend  writes  to  me  to 
say  that  you  must  quit  the  town  immediately,  or  )'ou 
will  be  arrested,  —  thrown  into  prison,  perhaps  guillo- 
tined !  Fly  !  —  I  will  order  horses  to  your  carriage 
instantly.  Fly  to  Marseilles ;  there  you  can  take 
ship  to  Leghorn. 

IMADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

And  what's  to  become  of  Pauline  '?  Am  I  not  to 
be  a  mother  to  a  princess,  after  all  ? 

Enter  Pauline  and  M.  Desohappelles. 
PAULINE  (throwing  herself  into  JIelnotte's  arms). 
You  must  leave  us !  —  Leave  Pauline  ! 

beauseant. 
Not  a  moment  is  to  be  wasted. 

MONS.    DESCIIAPPELLES. 

I  will  go  to  the  magistrates  and  incpiire 

BEAUSEANT. 

Then  he  is  lost ;  the  magistrates,  hearing  he  is 
suspected,  will  order  his  arrest. 


OR,    LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  45 

MAnA:\rE  nEsciiArrELT.ES. 
Ami  I  shall  not  be  a  Priiu'ess  Dowager ! 

r.EAUSKANT. 

Why  not  ?  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done  :  — 
send  lor  tlie  priest  —  let  tlie  marriage  take  place  at 
once,  and  the  Prince  carry  home  a  bride  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Impossible  !  —  (Aside.')     Villain  ! 

JIADAME  DESCHAPPELLES. 

What,  lose  my  child  ? 

15EAUSEANT. 

And  gain  a  jirincess ! 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELI-ES. 

Oh,  INIonsieur  Beauseant,  you  are  so  very  kind,  it 
must  be  so,  — we  ought  not  to  be  selfish,  my  daugh- 
ter's happiness  at  stake.  She  will  go  away,  too,  in  a 
carriage  and  six: ! 

PAULINE. 

Thou  art  here  still,  —  I  cannot  part  from  thee,  — 
my  heart  will  break. 

MELNOTTE. 

But  thou  wilt  not  consent  to  this  hasty  imion  ?  — 
thou  wilt  not  Aved  an  outcast,  —  a  fugitive  ? 

PAULINE. 

Ah !  If  thou  art  in  danger,  who  should  share  it 
but  Pauline  ? 

MELNOTTE  {aside.) 
Distraction  !  —  If  the  earth  could  swallow  me  ! 

MONS.   DKSCMAI'I'KLLES. 

(Icntly  !  gently  !  The  settlements  —  the  contracts 
—  my  daughter's  dowry  ! 


46  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS: 

MELNOTTE. 

The  dowry  !  —  I  am  not  base  enough  for  that ;  no, 
not  one  farthhig ! 

liEAUSEANT  {tO  JIadAME). 

Noble  fellow !  —  Really  your  good  husband  is  too 
mercantile  in  these  matters.  Monsieur  Deschap- 
pelles,  you  hear  his  Highness  :  we  can  arrange  the 
settlements  by  proxy;  'tis  the  way  with  people  of 
quality. 

JIONS.  descuappelles. 

But 

MADAME   DESCIIAPPELI.KS. 

Hold  your  tongue  !  —  Do  n't  expose  yourself ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  will  bring  the  priest  in  a  trice.  Go  in  all  of  you 
and  prepare ;  the  carriage  shall  be  at  the  door  be- 
fore the  ceremony  is  over. 

MADAME    DESCHAPPELLES. 

Be  sure  there  are  six  horses,  Beauseant !  You 
are  very  good  to  have  forgiven  us  for  refusing  you  ; 
but  you  see  —  a  prince  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  such  a  prince !  Madame,  I  cannot  blush  at 
the  success  of  so  illustrious  a  rival. —  (Aside.)  Now 
will  I  follow  them  to  the  village,  enjoy  my  triumjih, 
and  to-morrow,  in  the  hour  of  thy  shame  and  grief, 
I  think,  proud  girl,  thou  wilt  prefer  even  these  arms 
to  those  of  the  gardener's  son.  [Exit. 

MADAME    Di;srH  ArlMCLf.ES. 

Come,  Monsieur  Desdiappelles,  give  your  arm  to 
her  Highness  that  is  to  be. 


OK,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  47 

5IOXS.    UESCIIAPPELLES. 

I  don't  like  doing  business  in  such  a  hurry :  't  is 
not  the  way  with  the  house  of  Deschappelles  and  Co. 

JIADAJIE    DliSCHAPPELLKS. 

There,  now,  you  fancy  you  are  in  the  counting- 
house,  don't  you  V  [Pushes  Mm  to  Paulixk. 

JIKLNOTTE. 

Stay,  stay,  Pauhne,  —  one  word.  Have  you  no 
scruple,  no  fear?     Speak,  —  it  is  not  yet  too  late. 

PAULINE. 

When  I  loved  thee,  thy  fate  became  mine.  Tri- 
umph or  danger, — joy  or  sorrow,  —  I  am  by  thy 
side. 

DAMAS. 

Well,  well,  Prince,  thou  art  a  lucky  man  to  be  so 
loved.  She  is  a  good  little  girl  in  spite  of  her  foi- 
bles, —  make  her  as  happy  as  if  she  were  not  to  be 
a  princess  Qilapping  lain  on  the  shoulder).  Come, 
Sir,  I  wish  you  joy  ;  —  young  —  tender  —  lovely  ; 
—  zounds,  I  envy  you ! 

Melnotte  {iclio  has  stood  apart  in  gloom//  abstraction). 

Do  you  ?  * 

*  On  tlie  stage  the  following  linos  are  added  :  — 
"  Do  you .'    Wise  judges  are  we  of  eacli  other. 
'  Woo,  wed,  and  bear  Jier  lioiuc  1 '     So  runs  the  bond 
To  which  I  sold  myself  —  and  then  —  what  then.'' 
Away  !  —  I  will  not  look  beyond  tlie  Hour. 
Like  children  in  the  dark,  1  dure  nut  face 
The  shrulcs  that  gather  round  nie  in  tlio  distance. 
You  envy  nie —  I  thank  you  —  you  may  read 
Wy  joy  upon  my  brow  —  I  thank  you,  Sir  ! 
If  liearts  had  audible  language,  you  would  lioar 
Wliat  mine  would  answer  when  you  talk  oi  envy  !  " 


48  THE  LADY   OF   LYONS: 


ACT    III. 

ScEXE  I. —  The  Exterior  of  ihe  Golden  Lion  —  time,  iwilif/ht. 
The  moon  7-ises  during  the  Scene. 

Enter  Landlord  and  his  Daughter  from  ihe  Inn. 

LANDLORD. 

Ha  —  ha  -r-  ha  !  Well,  I  never  shall  get  over  it. 
Our  Claude  is  a  prince  with  a  vengeance  now.  His 
carriage  breaks  clown  at  my  inn  —  ha  —  ha ! 

J  A  NET. 

And  what  airs  the  young  lady  gives  herself!  "  Is 
this  the  best  room  you  have,  young  woman  ?  "  with 
such  a  toss  of  the  head. 

LANDLOr.D. 

Well,  get  in,  Janet :  get  in  and  see  to  the  supper : 
the  servants  must  sup  before  they  go  back. 

[Exeu7it. 
Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis. 

r.KAUSKANT. 

You  see  our  Princess  is  lodged  at  last,  —  one  stage 
more,  and  she  '11  be  at  her  journey's  end,  —  the 
beautiful  palace  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps !  —  ha  —  ha ! 

GLAVIS. 

Faith,  I  pity  the  poor  Pauline,  —  especially  if  she  's 
going  to  sup  at  the  Golden  Lion.     (^Makes  a  wryface.^ 
I  shall  never  forget  that  cursed  ragout 
Enter  JIelxotte  y^'o^H  the  Inn. 

I5EAUSKANT. 

Your  servant,  my  Prince ;  you  reigned  most  wor~ 


OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  49 

thily.  I  condole  with  you  on  your  abdication.  I 
am  afraid  that  your  liighness's  retinue  are  not  very 
faithful  servants.  I  think  they  will  quit  you  in  the 
moment  of  your  fall,  —  't  is  the  fate  of  greatness. 
But  you  are  welcome  to  your  fine  clothes,  —  also 
the  diamond  snulF-box,  which  Louis  XIV.  gave  to 
your  great-grcat-grandmother. 

GLAVIS. 

And    the  ring,  with  which  your  grandfather  the 
Doge  of  Venice  married  the  Adriatic. 

JI  KI.XOTTK. 

I  have  kept  my  oath,  gentlemen,  say,  —  have  I 
kept  my  oath  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Most  religiously. 

JIKLNOTTE. 

Then  you  have  done  with  me  and  mine,  —  away 
with  you  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

How,  knave  ? 

5IELNOTTE. 

Look  you,  our  bond  is  over.  Proud  conquerors 
that  we  are,  we  have  won  the  victory  over  a  simple 
girl,  —  compromised  her  honor,  —  embittered  her 
life,  —  blasted,  in  then-  very  blossoms,  all  the  flow- 
ers of  her  youth.  This  is  your  triumph,  —  it  is  my 
shame!  {Turns  to  Beauskant.)  Enjoy  thy  tri- 
umpli,  but  not  in  my  sight.  I  ivas  her  betrayer, — 
I  am  her  protector  !  Cross  but  her  path,  —  one  word 
of  scorn,  one  look  of  insult,  —  nay,  but  one  quiver 
of  that  mocking  lip,  and  I  will  teach  thee  that  bitter 
4 


50  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS: 

word  thou  hast  graven   eternally  in   this  heart,  — 
Repentance  ! 

r.EAUSKANT. 

His  Highness  Is  most  grandiloquent. 

JIKLNOTTE. 

Highness  me  no  more.  Beware !  Remorse  has 
made  me  a  new  being.  Away  with  you  !  There  is 
danger  in  me.     Away  ! 

GLAvis  (aside.) 

He  's  an  awkward  fellow  to  deal  with  ;  come  away, 
Beauseant. 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  know  the  respect  due  to  rank.  Adieu,  my 
Prince.  Any  commands  at  Lyons  ?  Yet  hold,  — 
I  i^romlsed  you  two  hundred  louis  on  your  wedding- 
day  ;  here  they  are. 

JiELNOTTE  (dashing  (he  purse  to  the  ground). 

I  gave  you  revenge,  I  did  not  sell  it.  Take  up 
your  silver,  Judas  ;  take  it.  —  Ay,  it  is  fit  you  should 
learn  to  stoop. 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  will  beg  my  pardon  for  this  some  day.  (Aside 
to  Glavis.)  Come  to  my  chateau,  —  I  shall  return 
hither  to-morrow  to  learn  how  Pauline  likes  her  new 
dignity. 

aiELNOTTE. 

Are  you  not  gone  yet  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Your  Highness's  most  obedient,  most  faithful  — 

GLAVIS. 

And  most  humble  servants.     Ha!  ha! 

[l^xeunf  Beauseant  and  Glavis. 


OR,    LOVK    AND    PRIDE.  51 

JIKT.NOTTE. 

Thank  Heaven,  I  had  no  weapon,  or  I  should 
have  slain  them.  Wrekh  !  what  can  I  say  ?  Where 
turn  ?  On  all  sides  mockery  —  the  very  boors  with- 
in—  (^Lfnujhtcr  from  the  Inn.^  —  'Sdeath,  if  even  in 
this  short  absence  the  exposure  should  have  chanced. 
I  will  call  her.  We  will  go  hence.  I  have  already 
sent  one  I  can  trust  to  my  mother's  house.  Tiiere 
at  least  none  can  insult  her  agony,  —  gloat  upon  her 
shame !  There  alone  must  she  learn  what  a  villain 
she  has  sworn  to  love. 

\^As  he  turns  to  the  door  enter  Pauline  from  the  Inn. 

PAULINE. 

Ah  !  m}'  Lord,  what  a  place !  I  never  saw  such 
rude  people.  Tliey  stare  and  wink  so.  I  think  the 
vei'}'  sight  of  a  prince,  though  he  travels  incognito, 
turns  their  honest  heads.  AVhat  a  pity  the  carriage 
should  break  down  in  such  a  spot '  You  are  not 
Avell  —  the  drops  stand  on  your  brow  —  your  hand 
is  feverish. 

IMKLXOTTK. 

Naj-,  it  Is  but  a  passing  spasm ;  the  air ■ 

PAULINE. 

Is  not  the  soft  air  of  your  native  south  — 
How  jiale  he  is  !  —  indeed  tliou  art  not  well. 
AVlierc  are  our  people  ?     I  will  call  them. 

MELXOTTE. 

Hold  ! 
I —  I  am  Avell. 

PAULINE. 

Thou  art !  —  Ah  !  now  I  know  it. 


52  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  : 

Thou  fanciest,  my  kind  Lord  —  I  know  thou  dost  — 
Thou  fanciest  these  rude  walls,  these  rustic  gossips, 
Bricked  floors,  sour  wine,  coarse  viands,  vex  Pauline? 
And  so  they  might,  but  thou  art  by  my  side, 
And  I  forget  all  else. 

Enter  Luudlord,  the  SeiTants  peejnng  and  laurjhing  over  his 
shoulder. 

LANDLORD. 

]\I}-  Lord  —  your  Highness  — 
Will  your  most  noble  Excellency  choose  — 

MELNOTTE. 

Begone,  Sir ! 

[Exit  Landlord,  laughing. 

PAULINE. 

How  could  they  have  learned  thy  rank  ? 
One's  servants  are  so  vain  !  —  nay,  let  it  not 
Chafe  thee,  sweet  Prince  !  a  few  short  days,  and  we 
Shall  see  thy  palace  by  its  lake  of  silver. 
And  —  nay,  nay,  Spendthrift,  is  thy  wealth  of  smiles 
Already  drained,  or  dost  thou  j)lay  the  miser  V 

BIELNOTTE. 

Thine  eyes  would  call  up  smiles  in  deserts,  fair  one ; 
Let  us  escape  these  rustics.     Close  at  hand 
There  is  a  cot  where  I  have  bid  prepare 
Our  evening  lodgement  —  a  rude,  homely  roof, 
But  honest,  where  our  welcome  will  not  be 
]\Lade  torture  by  the  vulgar  eyes  and  tongues 
That  are  as  death  to  Love  !    A  heavenly  night ! 
The  Avooing  air  and  the  soft  moon  invite  us. 
Wilt  walk  V     I  pray  thee,  now,  —  I  know  the  path, 
Ay,  every  inch  of  it ! 


OR,   LOVE   AND    PRIDE.  53 

PAULIXK. 

A^^lat,  thou  !  metliought 
Thou  wert  a  stranger  in  these  parts  ?     Ah !  truant, 
Some  village  beauty  lured  thee ;  —  thou  art  now 
Grown  constant '? 

aiELNOTTE. 

Trust  me. 
taulixe. 

Princes  are  so  changeful ! 

MKLNOTTE. 

Come,  dearest,  come. 

PAULINE. 

Shall  I  not  call  our  people 
To  light  us  ? 

JIELXOTTE. 

Heaven  will  lend  its  stars  for  torches  ! 
It  is  not  far. 

PAULINE. 

The  night  breeze  chills  me. 

MELXOTTE. 

Nay, 
Let  me  thus  mantle  thee ;  —  it  is  not  cold. 

PAULINE. 

Never  beneath  thy  smile  ! 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

Oh,  Heaven  !  forgive  me  ! 
[Exeunt. 


54  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS  : 


SCENE  II. 


JIelnotte's    Cottage  —  Widow  hustling   abcmt  —  A   iahh 
spread  for  supper. 

WIDOW. 

So,  I  think  tliat  looks  very  neat.  He  sent  me  a 
line,  so  blotted  that  I  can  scarcely  read  it,  to  say  he 
would  be  here  almost  immediately.  She  must  have 
loved  him  well  indeed  to  have  forgotten  his  birth- 
for  though  he  was  introduced  to  her  in  disguise,  he 
is  too  honorable  not  to  have  revealed  to  her  the  arti- 
fice which  her  love  only  could  forgive.  AA'^ell,  I  do 
not  wonder  at  it ;  for  though  my  son  is  not  a  prince, 
he  ought  to  be  one,  and  that 's  almost  as  good. 
(Knock  at  the  door.')  Ah  !  here  they  are. 
Enter  ]\Ielnotte  and  Pauline. 

WIDOW. 

Oh,  my  boy  —  the  jiride  of  my  heart !  —  welcome, 
welcome !  I  beg  pardon,  JNIa'am,  but  I  do  love  him 
so! 

PAULINE. 

Good  woman,  I  really  —  why.  Prince,  what  is  this  ? 
—  does  the  old  lady  know  you  ?  Oh,  I  guess  3011 
have  done  her  some  service.  Another  proof  of  your 
kind  heart,  is  it  not  ? 

IMELNOTTE 

Of  my  kind  heart,  ay  I 

I'AIILINE. 

So  you  know  the  Prince  ? 


OR,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  55 

winow. 
Know  him,  ]\Iadam  ?  —  Ah,  I  begin  to  fear  it  is 
you  who  know  him  not ! 

r.VULINE. 

Do  you  think  she  is  mad  ?  Can  wc  stay  here,  my 
Lord  ?  I  think  there 's  something  very  wild  about 
her. 

MELNOTTE. 

Madam,  I  —  no  I  cannot  tell  her,  my  knees  knock 
together :  what  a  coward  is  a  man  who  has  lost  his 
honor  !  Speak  to  her  —  speak  to  her  (to  his  mother) 
>—  tell  her  that —  Oh,  Heaven,  that  I  were  dead ! 

PAULINE. 

How  confused  he  looks  !  —  this  strange  place  — 
this  woman  —  what  can  it  mean  ?  —  I  half  suspect  — 
Who  are  you,  Madam  ?  —  who  are  you  ?  can't  you 
speak  ?  are  you  struck  dumb  ? 

WIDOW. 

Claude,  j-o^^  have  not  deceived  her  ?  —  Ah,  shame 
upon  )-ou  !  I  thought  that,  before  you  went  to  the 
altar,  she  was  to  have  known  all. 

PAULINE. 

All !  what  ?  —  My  blood  freezes  in  my  veins  ! 

WIDOW. 

Poor  lady!  — dare  I  tell  her,  Claude?  (Mel- 
NOTTE  makes  a  sign  of  assent.)  Know  you  not 
tlien,  Madam,  that  this  J'oung  man  is  of  poor  though 
honest  parents  ?  Know  you  not  that  you  are  wed- 
ded to  my  son,  Claude  Melnotte  ? 

PAULINE. 

Your  son  !  hold  —  hold  !   do  not  speak  to  me.  — 


56  THE   LADY   OF    LYONS  : 

{Approaches  Melnotte,  and  lays  her  hand  on  his 
arin.^  Is  this  a  jest  ?  is  it  ?  I  know  it  is,  only 
speak  —  one  word  —  one  look  —  one  smile.  I  can- 
not believe  —  I  who  loved  thee  so  —  I  cannot  believe 
that  thou  art  such  a  —  No,  I  will  not  wrong  thee  by 
a  harsh  word  —  Sjieak  ! 

WELXOTTE. 

Leave  us  —  have  pity  on  her,  on  me  :  leave  us. 

WIDOW. 

Oh,  Claude,  that  I  should  live  to  see  thee  bowed 
by  shame  !  —  thee  of  whom  I  was  so  proud  ! 

[Exit,  hy  the  staircase. 

PAULINE. 

Her  son  —  her  son  ! 

5IELNOTTE. 

Now,  lady,  hear  me. 

PAULINE. 

Hear  thee! 
Ay,  speak  —  her  son  !  have  fiends  a  parent  V   speak, 
That  thou  mayst  silence  curses  —  speak  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  curse  me  : 
Thy  curse  would  blast  me  less  than  thy  forgiveness. 

Pauline  {laughing  u-ildly). 
"  This  is  thy  palace,  where  the  perfumed  light 
Steals  through  the  mist  of  alabaster  lamps, 
And  every  air  is  heavy  Avith  the  sighs 
Of  orange-groves,  and  music  from  sweet  lutes, 
And  murmurs  of  low  fountains,  that  gush  forth 
r  the  midst  of  roses  !  "     Dost  thou  like  the  picture  ? 
This  is  my  bridal  home,  and  thou  my  bridegroom  ! 


OR,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  57 

0  fool  —  O  dupe  —  O  wretch  !  —  I  see  it  all  — 
The  byword  and  the  jeer  of  every  tongue 

In  Lyons.     Hast  thou  in  thy  heart  one  touch 
Of  human  kindness  ?  if  thou  hast,  why,  kill  me, 
And  save  thy  wife  from  madness.     No,  it  cannot  — 
It  cannot  be :  this  is  some  horrid  dream : 

1  shall    wake    soon.  —  (^Toucliing   Jilin.)     Art    flesh? 

art  man  ?  or  but 
The  shadows  seen  in  sleep  ?  —  It  is  too  real. 
What  have  I  done  to  thee  ?  how  sinned  against  thee, 
That  thou  shouldst  crush  me  thus  ? 

SIELNOTTE. 

Pauline,  by  pride  — 
Angels  have  fallen  ere  thy  time  :  by  pride  — 
That  solo  alloy  of  thy  most  lovely  mould  — 
The  evil  spirit  of  a  bitter  love, 
And  a  revengeful  heart,  had  power  upon  thee. 
From  my  first  years  my  soul  was  filled  with  thee : 
I  saw  thee  'midst  the  flowers  the  lowly  boy 
Tended,  unmarked  by  thee  —  a  spirit  of  bloom, 
And  joy,  and  freshness,  as  if  Spring  itself 
Were  made  a  living  thing,  and  wore  thy  shape  ! 
I  saw  thee,  and  the  passionate  heart  of  man 
Entered  the  breast  of  the  wild-dreaming  boy. 
And  from  that  hour  I  grew  —  what  to  the  last 
I  shall  be  —  thine  adorer  !     Well ;  this  love, 
Vain,  frantic,  guilty,  if  thou  wilt,  became 
A  fountain  of  ambition  and  bright  hope ; 
I  thought  of  tales  that  by  the  winter  hearth 
Old  gossips  tell  —  how  maidens  sprung  from  Kings 
Have  stooped  from  their  high  sphere  ;  how  Love,  like 
Death, 


58  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS  : 

Levels  all  ranks,  and  lays  the  shepherd's  crook 

Beside  the  sceptre.     Thus  I  made  my  home 

In  the  soft  palace  of  a  fairy  Future  ! 

My  father  died  ;  and  I,  the  peasant-born, 

Was  my  own  lord.     Then  did  I  seek  to  rise 

Out  of  the  prison  of  my  mean  estate  ; 

And,  with  such  jewels  as  the  exploring  Mind 

Brings  from  the  caves  of  Knowledge,  buy  my  ransom 

From  those  twin  gaolers  of  the  daring  heart  — 

Low  Birth  and  iron  Fortune.     Thy  bright  image, 

Glassed  in  my  soul,  took  all  the  hues  of  glory, 

And  lured  me  on  to  those  insjiiring  toils 

By  which  man  masters  men  !     For  thee  I  grew 

A  midnight  student  o'er  the  dreams  of  sages  ! 

For  thee  I  sought  to  borrow  from  each  Grace, 

And  every  Muse,  such  attributes  as  lend 

Ideal  charms  to  Love.     I  thought  of  thee, 

And  Passion  taught  me  poesy  —  of  thee, 

And  on  the  painter's  canvas  grew  the  life 

Of  beauty  !  —  Art  became  the  shadow 

Of  the  dear  starlight  of  thy  haunting  eyes  ! 

Men  called  me  vain  —  some  mad  —  I  heeded  not; 

But  still  toiled  on  —  hoped  on  — for  it  was  sweet. 

If  not  to  win,  to  feel  more  worthy  tTiee  ! 

PAULINE. 

Has  he  a  magic  to  exorcise  hate  ? 

MELXOTTE. 

At  last,  in  one  mad  hour,  I  dared  to  pour 
The  thouglits  that  burst  their  channels  into  song. 
And  sent  them  to  thee  —  such  a  tribute,  lady, 
As  beauty  rarely  scorns,  even  i'roni  the  meanest. 


oil,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  59 

The  name  —  appended  by  the  burning  heart 

That  longed  to  show  its  idol  what  bright  things 

It  had  created  —  j-ea,  the  enthusiast's  name, 

That  should  have  been  thy  triumph,  was  thy  scorn ! 

That  very  hour — when  passion,  turned  to  Avrath, 

Kesembled  hatred  most  —  when  thy  disdain 

]\Iade  my  whole  soul  a  chaos  —  in  that  hour 

The  tempters  found  me  a  revengeful  to6\ 

For  their  revenge !     Thou   hadst  trampled  on  the 

■worm  — 
It  turned  and  stung  thee  ! 

PAULINE. 

Love,  Sir,  hath  no  sting. 
What  was  the  slight  of  a  poor  powerless  girl 
To  the  deep  wrong  of  this  most  vile  revenge  ? 
Oh,  how  I  loved  this  man  !  —  a  serf!  —  a  slave  ! 

JIEI.NOTTE. 

Hold,  lady  !  —  No,  not  slave  !     Despair  is  free  ! 
I  will  not  tell  thee  of  the  throes  —  the  struggles  — 
The  anguish  —  the  remorse  :     No  —  let  it  pass ! 
And  let  me  come  to  such  most  poor  atonement 
Yet  in  my  power.     Pauline  ! 

\_Approa<hlng  her  lollh  f/reat  emotion,  and  about  to  inka 
her  hand. 

PAULINE. 

No,  touch  me  not ! 
I  know  my  fate.     You  are,  by  law,  my  tyrant; 
And  I  —  oh  Heaven  !  —  a  peasant's  wife  !  I  '11  work — 
Toil  —  drudge  —  do  what  thou  wilt  —  but  touch  me 

not ; 
Let  my  wrongs  make  me  sacred  ! 


60  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  : 

MELNOTTE. 

Do  not  fear  me. 
Thou  dost  not  know  me,  ]\Iadam :  at  the  altar 
I\Iy  vengeance  ceased — my  guilty  oath  expired! 
Henceforth,  no  hnage  of  some  marble  saint, 
Niched  in  cathedral  aisles,  is  hallowed  more 
From  the  rude  hand  of  sacrilegious  wrong. 
I  am   thy  husband  —  nay,    thou    need'st   not  shud- 
der ;  — 
Here,  at  thy  feet,  I  lay  a  husband's  rights. 
A  marriage  thus  unholy  —  unfulfilled  — 
A  bond  of  fraud  —  is,  by  the  laws  of  France, 
]\Iade   void   and  null.     To-night    sleep  —  sleep    in 

peace. 
To-morrow,  pure  and  virgin  as,  this  morn, 
I  bore  thee,  bathed  in  blushes,  from  the  shrine, 
Thy  father's  arms  shall  take  thee  to  thy  home. 
The  law  shall  do  thee  justice,  and  restore 
Thy  right  to  bless  another  with  thy  love. 
And  when  thou  art  happy,  and  hast  half  forgot 
Him  who  so  loved  —  so  wronged  thee,  think  at  least 
Heaven  left  some  remnant  of  the  angel  still 
In  that  poor  peasant's  nature  ! 

Ho  !  my  mother  ! 
Enter  Widow. 
Conduct  this  lady  —  (she  is  not  my  wife  ; 
She  is  our  guest,  our  honored  guest,  my  mother  1) — 
To  the  poor  chamber,  where  the  sleep  of  virtue, 
Never,  beneath  my  father's  honest  roof, 
Ev'n  villains  dared  to  mar  I     Now,  lady,  now, 
I  think  thou  wilt  believe  me.  —  Go,  my  mother  ! 


OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDK.  61 

•WIDOW. 

She  is  not  tby  Vfli'a  !  — 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush  !  hush  !  for  mercy's  sake  ! 
Speak  not,  but  go. 
[Widow  ascewh  the  stftirs  ;    Paulink  follows  weejnng  — 
turns  to  look  buck. 

JIKLNOTTK  {sinkiiifj  chum). 

All  an^eld  bless  and  cuard  her ! 


62  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS  : 


ACT  IV. 

ScEXE  I.  •—  The  Cottage  as  before  —  !Melnotte  seated  be- 
fore a  table  —  writing  implements,  <ft'.  —  {Di^iy  breaking.) 

MELXOTTE. 

Hush,  liush  !  —  she  sleeps  at  last !  —  thank  Heav- 
en, for  a  while  she  forgets  even  that  I  live  !  Her  sobs, 
•which  have  gone  to  my  heart  the  whole,  long,  deso- 
late night,  have  ceased  !  —  all  calm  —  all  still !  I 
wiU  go  now ;  I  will  send  this  letter  to  Pauline's  fa- 
ther—  Avhen  he  arrives,  I  will  place  in  his  hands  my 
own  consent  to  the  divorce,  and  then,  O  France  I 
my  country !  accept  among  thy  protectors,  th}'  de- 
fenders —  the  Peasant's  son  !  Our  country  is  less 
proud  than  Custom,  and  does  not  refuse  the  blood, 
the  heart,  the  right  hand  of  the  poor  man  ! 

Enter  Widow. 

WIDOW. 

]\Iy  son,  thou  hast  acted  ill ;  but  sin  brings  its  own 
punishment.  In  the  hour  of  thy  remorse,  it  is  not 
for  a  mother  to  reproach  thee  ! 

JIELNOTTE. 

What  is  past  is  jiast.  There  is  a  future  left  to  all 
men,  who  have  the  virtue  to  repent  and  the  energy 
to  atone.  Tiiou  shalt  be  proud  of  thy  son  yet. 
Meanwhile,  remember  this  poor  lady  has  been  griev- 
ously injured.  For  the  sake  of  thy  son's  conscience, 
respect,  honor,  bear  with  her.     If  she  weep,  console 


OR,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  G3 

—  if  she  chide,  be  silent !  'T  is  but  a  Httle  while 
more  —  I  shall  send  an  express  fast  as  horse  can 
speed  to  her  father.  Farewell !  —  I  shall  return 
shortly. 

WIDOW. 

It  is  the  only  course  left  to  thee  —  thou  wert  led 
astray,  but  thou  art  not  hardened.  Thy  heart  is 
right  still,  as  ever  it  was  when,  in  thy  most  ambi- 
tious hopes,  thou  wert  never  ashamed  of  thy  poor 
mother  ! 

SIELNOTTE. 

Ashamed  of  thee  !  —  No,  if  I  j'ct  endure,  yet  live, 
yet  hope  —  it  is  only  because  I  would  not  die  till  I 
have  redeemed  the  noble  heritage  1  have  lost  —  the 
heritage  I  took  unstained  from  thee  and  my  dead  fa- 
ther —  a  proud  conscience  and  an  honest  name.  I 
shall  win  them  back  yet —  Heaven  bless  you  ! 

[Exit 
AVI  now. 
My  dear  Claude  !    How  my  heart  bleeds  for  him  ! 

[Paulink  looks  down  from  above,   and  after  a  2)atise 
descends. 

PAULINE. 

Not  here  !  — he  spares  me  that  j^ain  at  least :  so 
far  he  is  considerate  —  yet  the  place  seems  still  more 
desolate  without  him.  Oh,  that  I  could  hate  him  — 
the  gardener's  son  !  —  and   yet   how  nobly  he  —  no 

—  no  —  no,  I  will  not  be  so  mean  a  thing  as  to  for- 
give him ! 

WIDOW. 

Good  morning.  Madam ;  I  would  have  waited  on 
you  if  I  had  known  j'ou  were  stirvin<.^ 


64  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS  : 

PAULINE. 

It  is  no  matter,  Ma'am  —  your  son's  wife  ought  to 
wait  on  hereelf. 

■WIDOW. 

My  son's  wife — -let  not  that  thought  vex  you, 
Madam  —  he  tells  me  that  you  will  have  your  di- 
vorce. And  I  hope  I  shall  live  to  see  him  smile 
again.  There  are  maidens  in  this  village,  young  and 
fair.  Madam,  who  may  yet  console  him. 

PAULINE. 

I  dare  say  —  they  are  very  welcome  —  and  Avhen 
the  divorce  is  got,  he  will  marry  again.  I  am  sure  I 
hope  so. 

[  Weej)s. 

WIDOW. 

He  could  have  married  the  richest  girl  in  the  prov- 
ince, if  he  had  pleased  it ;  but  his  head  Avas  turned, 
poor  child  !  —  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  you. 

[  IVeeps. 

PAULINE. 

Don't  weep,  mother. 

WIDOW. 

Ah,  he  has  behaved  very  ill,  I  know  —  but  love  is 
so  headstrong  in  the  young.     Don't  weep,  Madam. 

-.LULINE. 

So,  as  you  were  saying  —  go  on. 

WIDOW. 

Oh,  I  caimot  excuse  him,  Ma'am  —  be  was  not  in 
his  right  senses. 

PAULINE. 

But  he  always  'always  {sohhinfj')  loved  —  loved 
me  then  ? 


OR,   LOVE   AXD   PRIDE.  65 

WIDOW. 

He  thought  of  notliing  else.  See  here  —  he  learnt 
to  paint  that  he  might  take  your  likeness  (^uncovers 
the  picture').  But  that 's  all  over  now  —  I  trust  you 
have  cured  him  of  his  folly ;  —  but,  dear  heart,  you 
have  had  no  breakfast ! 

PAULINE. 

I  can't  take  anything  —  don't  trouble  yourself. 

WIDO\V. 

Nay,  Madam,  be  persuaded ;  a  little  coffee  will 
refresh  you.  Our  milk  and  eggs  are  excellent.  I 
will  get  out  Claude's  coffee-cup  —  it  is  of  real  Sevre ; 
he  saved  up  all  his  money  to  buy  it  three  years  ago, 
be(;ause  the  name  of  Pauline  was  inscribed  on  it. 

I'AULIXE. 

Three  years  ago  !  Poor  Claude  !  —  Thank  you  ; 
I  think  I  will  have  some  coffee.  Oh  !.  if  he  Avere  but 
a  poor  gentleman,  even  a  merchant :  but  a  garden- 
er's sou  —  and  what  a  home  I  —  O  no,  it  is  too  dread- 
ful ! 

[  They  sent  tJiem.ielreg  at  (he  table,  Beauseaxt  qpe7is  the 
lattice  and  luuks  in. 

r.EAUSEAST. 

So  —  so  — the  coast  is  clear!     I  saw   Claude  in 
the  lane  —  I  shall  have  an  excellent  opportunity. 
[  Shuts  the  lattice  and  knocks  at  the  door. 

r A  u  LI  N  E  { .s/'(  rtinti ) . 
Can  it  be  my  father  ?  —  he  has  not  sent   for  him 
yet  ?     No,  he  cannot  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid 
of  me. 

5 


66  THE   LADY   OF    LYONS  ; 


It  is  not  time  for  your  father  to  arrive  yet ;  it 
must  be  some  neighbor. 

TAULIXE 

Don't  admit  any  one. 
[Widow  opens  the  door,   Beauseajjt  jmshes  her  aside 
and  enters. 

Ha !  Heavens  !  that  hateful  Beauseant !  This  is 
indeed  bitter  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Good  morning,  Madam  !  Oh,  Widow,  your  son 
begs  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  go  to  him  in  the 
village  —  he  wants  to  speak  to  you  on  particular  busi- 
ness ;  you  '11  find  him  at  the  inn,  or  the  grocer's 
shop,  or  the  baker's,  or  at  some  other  friend's  of  your 
family  —  make  haste. 

PAULINE. 

Don't  leave  me,  mother  !  —  don't  leave  me. 

BEAUSEANT  {ivith  great  respect). 
Be  not  alarmed,  Madam.     Believe  me  your  friend 
—  your  servant. 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  I  have  no  fear  of  you,  even  in  this  house  !  Go? 
INIadam,  if  your  son  wishes  it ;  I  will  not  contradict 
his  commands  whilst,  at  least,  he  has  still  the  right  to 
be  obeyed. 

WIDOW. 

I  don't  undei'stand  this ;  however,  I  shan't  be  long 

gone. 

[Exit. 


OR,    LOVE    AND    PKIDE.  67 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  I  divine  the  object  of  your  visit  —  you  wish  to 
exult  in  the  humiliation  of  one  who  humbled  you. 
Be  it  so  ;  I  am  prepared  to  endure  all  —  even  your 
presence ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  mistake  me,  INIadam  —  Pauline,  you  mistake 
me  !  I  come  to  lay  my  fortune  at  your  feet.  You 
must  already  be  disenchanted  with  this  impostor; 
these  walls  are  not  worthy  to  be  hallowed  by  your 
beaut)- !  Shall  that  fonn  be  clasped  in  the  arms  of 
a  base-born  peasant?  Beloved,  beautiful  Pauline! 
fly  with  me — my  carriage  waits  without  —  I  will 
bear  jou  to  a  home  more  meet  for  your  reception. 
"Wealth,  luxury,  station  —  all  shall  yet  be  yours.  I 
forget  your  past  disdain — I  remember  only  your 
beauty  and  my  unconquerable  love  ! 

PAULINE. 

Sir  !  leave  this  house  —  it  is  humble  :  but  a  hus- 
band's roof,  however  lowly,  is,  in  the  eyes  of  God  and 
man,  the  temple  of  a  wife's  honor  !  Know  that  I 
would  rather  starve  —  yes — with  him  who  has  be- 
trayed me,  than  accept  your  lawful  hand,  even  were 
}'ou  the  Prince  whose  name  he  bore  !  —  Go. 

BEAUSEANT. 

What !  is  not  your  pride  humbled  yet  ? 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  what  was  pride  in  prosperity  in  afHictioii  be- 
comes virtue. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Look  round  :  these   rugged  floors  —  these  liomely 


68  TIIK   LADY    OF   LYONS  : 

walls  —  this  ■wrotchcd  struggle  of  poverty  for  comfort 

—  think  of  this  !  and  contrast  with  such  a  picture  the 
refinement,  the  luxury,  the  pomp,  that  the  wealthiest 
gentleman  of  Lyons  offers  to  the  loveliest  lady.  Ah, 
hear  me  ! 

PA  r  LINE. 

Ob!  my  father  !  —  why  did  I  leave  you? — why 
am  I  thus  friendless  ?  Sir,  you  see  before  j'ou  a  be- 
trayed, injured,  miserable  woman  !  —  respect  her  an- 
guish ! 

CMelnottk  opens  the  duar  silently,  and  pmtses  (tt  ilie 
thresltuld. 

BKAUSEANT. 

No  !  let  me  rather  thus  console  it ;  let  me  snatch 
from  those  lips  one  breath  of  that  fragrance  Avhich 
never  should  be  wasted  on  the  low  churl,  thy  hus- 
band. 

PAULINE. 

Help !  Claude  ! —  Claude  !  —  Have  I  no  protector  ? 

BEAUSEAJJT. 

Be  silent !  (sJtowing  a  pistol.)  See,  I  do  not  come 
Mnprcpared  even  for  violence.   I  will  brave  all  things 

—  thy  husband  and  all  his  race  —  for  thy  sake.  Thus, 
then,  I  clasp  thee  ! 

MELNOTTE  (dashint/  him  to  the  other  end  of  the  stat/e). 
Pauline — look  up,  Pauline  !  thou  art  safe. 

BEAUSEANT  (levelling  hisjiistol). 
Dare  you  thus  insult  a  man  of  my  birth,  ruffian  ? 

PAULINE. 

Oh,  spare  him  —  spare  my  husband!  —  Beauseant 

—  Claude  —  no  —  no  —  (^/ainlv). 


OR,    LOVE    AXD    PHIDK.  09 

JIKLXOTTE. 

]\Iiserable  trickster !  shame  upon  yoii !  brave  de- 
vices to  terrify  a  ■woman  !  Coward  !  you  tremble  — 
you  have  outraged  the  laws  —  you  know  that  }our 
Aveapon  is  harmless  —  )ou  have  the  courage  of  the 
mountebank,  not  the  bravo  !  —  Pauline,  there  is  no 
danger. 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  wish  thou  wert  a  gentleman  —  as  it  is,  thou  art 
beneath  me.  —  Good  day,  and  a  happy  honeymoon. 
(Aside.)    I  will  not  die  till  I  am  avenged. 

5IELXOTTE. 

I  hold  her  in  these  arms  —  the  last  embrace  ! 
Never,  ah  never  more,  shall  this  dear  head 
Be  pillowed  on  the  heart  that  should  have  sheltered 
And  has  betrayed  '      Soft  —  soft  !    one  kiss  —  poor 

Avretch  ! 
Xo  sforn  on  that  pale  lip  forbids  me  now  ! 
One  kiss  —  so  ends  all  record  of  my  crime  ! 
It  is  the  seal  upon  the  tomb  of  Hope, 
By  which,  like  some  lost,  sorrowing  angel,  sits 
Sad  ^lemor}'  evermore ;  she  breathes  —  she  moves  — 
She  wakes  to  scorn,  to  hate,  but  not  to  shudder 
Beneath  the  touch  of  my  abhorred  love. 

[Places  her  on  a  seat. 
There  —  we  are  strangers  now  ! 

I'AULIJJE. 

All  gone  —  all  calm  — 
Is  everif  thing  a  dream  ?  thou  art  safe,  unhurt  — 
I  do  not  love  thee;  but —  l)iit  I  am  woman, 
And —  and —  no  blood  is  sjjilt  ? 


70  THE    LADY   OF    LYONS  : 

5IELNOTTE. 

No,  lady,  no ; 
]Mj'  guilt  hatli  not  deserved  so  rich  a  blessing 
As  even  danger  in  thy  cause. 

Enter  Widow. 

■WIDOW. 

]\Iy  son,  I  have  been  everj'where  in  search  of  you ; 
■why  did  you  send  for  me  ? 

JIELNOTTE. 

I  did  not  send  for  you. 

WIDO^W. 

No  !  but  I  must  tell  you  your  express  has  returned. 

5IELN0TTE. 

So  soon  !  impossible  ! 

■WIDO^W. 

Yes,  he  met  the  lady's  father  and  mother  on  the 
road ;  they  ■were  going  into  the  country  on  a  visit. 
Your  messenger  says  that  ]\Ionsieur  Deschapjielles 
turned  almost  ■white  ■with  anger  when  he  read  your 
letter.  They  will  be  here  almost  immediately.  Oh, 
Claude,  Claude  !  what  will  they  do  to  you  V  How  I 
tremble  !  —  Ah,  Madam  !  do  not  let  them  injure  hnn 
—  if  you  knew  how  he  doted  on  you  ! 

PAIILIXE. 

Injure  him  !  no.  Ma'am,  be  not  afraid ;  —  my  father ! 
how  shall  I  meet  him  ?  how  go  back  to  Lyons  ?  the 
scoff  of  the  whole  city  ! —  Cruel,  cruel  Claude  —  {in 
great  arjitalion)  —  Sir,  you  have  acted  most  treacher- 
ously. 

3IELNOTTE. 

I  know  it,  ]\Iadam. 


OK,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  tl 

PAULINE.    . 

(Aside.)  If  he  would  but  ask  me  to  forgive  liim ! 

—  I  never  can  forgive  you,  Sir  ! 

MKLNOTTE. 

I  never  dared  to  hope  it. 

PAULINE. 

But  you  are  my  husband  now,  and  I  have  sworn  to 

—  to  love  you.  Sir. 

MELNOTTE. 

That  was  under  a  false  belief,  Madam  ;  Heaven 
and  the  laws  will  release  you  from  your  vow. 

PAULINE. 

He  will  drive  me  mad  !  if  he  were  but  less  proud 

—  if  he  would  but  ask  me  to  remain  —  hark,  hark  — 
I  hear  the  wheels  of  the  carriage — Sir — Claude, 
they  are  coming  ;  ha^•e  30U  no  word  to  say  ere  it  is 
too  late  ?     Quick  —  speak. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  can  only  congratulate  you  on  your  release.  Be- 
hold your  parents ! 

Enttf    MoNSiEuii    and    jMadame    Deschappelles     and 
Colonel  Damas. 

MONS.    deschappelles. 

My  child  !  —  my  child  ! 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

Oh  my  poor  I'auline  !  —  what  a  villanous  hovel  this 
is  !  Old  woman,  get  me  a  chair  —  I  shall  faint  —  I 
certainly  shall.  What  will  the  Avorkl  say?  —  Child, 
you  have  been  a  fool.  A  mother's  heart  is  easily 
broken. 

DAMAS. 

Ha,  ha  !  —  most  nolilo  Prince  —  I  am  sorry  to  see 


72  THE    LADY   OF    LYOXS : 

a  man  of  your  quality  in  such  a  condition ;  I  am 
afraid  your  Highness  will  go  to  tlie  House  of  Cor- 
rection. 

MELNOTTK. 

Taunt  on,  Sir;  I  spared  yoa  when  you  were  un- 
armed —  I  am  unarmed  now.  A  man  Avho  has  no 
excuse  for  crime  is  indeed  defenceless  ! 

PAMAS. 

There  's  something  fine  in  the  rascal,  after  all ! 

MONS     DICSCIIAPPELLKS. 

"Where  is  the  impostor  ?  —  Are  you  thus  shameless, 
traitor  ?  Can  you  brave  the  presence  of  that  girl's 
father  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Strike  me,  if  it  please  you  —  you  arc  her  father. 

PAULINE. 

Sir  —  sir,  for  my  sake  ;  —  whatever  his  guilt,  he 
has  acted  nobly  in  atonement. 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

Nobly  1  Are  you  mad,  girl  ?  I  have  no  patience 
with  you  —  to  disgrace  all  your  family  thus  !  — 
Nobly  !  Oh  you  abominable,  hardened,  pitiful, 
mean,  ugly  villain  ! 

DAMAS. 

Ugly  !     Why  he  was  beautiful  yesterday  ! 

PAl'LIXK. 

Madame,  this  is  his  roof,  and  he  is  my  husband. 
Respect  your  daughter,  or  let  blame  fall  alone  on 
her. 

MADAME   DESCHAPPELLES. 

You  —  you  —  Oh,  I  'm  choking. 


OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDK.  73 

MONS.   DESCIIAPPELI.ES. 

Sir,  it  were  idle  to  waste  reproach  upon  a  con- 
science like  yours  —  jou  renounce  all  pretensions  to 
the  person  of  this  lady  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

I  do.  (^Gives  a  paper.)  Here  is  my  consent  to 
a  divorce  —  my  full  confession  of  the  fraud  which 
annuls  the  marriage.  Your  daughter  has  been  foully 
wronged  —  I  grant  it.  Sir ;  but  her  own  lips  will  tell 
you  that,  from  the  hour  in  which  she  crossed  this 
threshold,  I  returned  to  my  own  station,  and  respect- 
ed hers.  Pure  and  inviolate,  as  when  yestermorn 
you  laid  your  hand  upon  her  head,  and  blessed  her, 
I  yield  her  back  to  you.  For  myself — I  deliver  you 
for  ever  from  my  presence.  An  outcast  and  a  crim- 
inal, I  seek  some  distant  land,  where  I  may  mourn 
my  sin,  and  pi-ay  for  your  daughter's  peace.  Fare- 
well—  farewell  to  you  all,  for  ever  ! 

WIDOW. 

Claude,  Claude,  you  will  not  leave  your  poor  old 
mother  ?  She  does  not  disown  you  in  your  sorrow 
—  no,  not  even  in  your  guilt.  No  divorce  can 
separate  a  mother  from  her  son. 

PAULINE. 

This  poor  widow  teaches  me  my  duty.  No,  moth- 
er —  no,  for  you  are  now  mi/  mother  also !  —  nor 
should  any  law,  human  or  divine,  separate  the  wife 
from  her  husband's  sorrows.  Claude — Claude  — 
all  is  forgotten  — forgiven  — I  am  thine  for  ever  ! 

JIAUAME    1)ESCHAP1'KI,LES. 

What  do  I  hear  ?  —  Come  away,  or  never  see  my 
face  ajrain. 


74  THE   LADY   OF   LYOXS  : 

JIONS.    DESCHAPPELLES. 

Pauline,  toe  never  betrayed  you  !  —  do  you  forsake 
us  for  him  ? 

PAULINE   {going  back  to  her  father). 

Oh,  no  —  but  you  will  forgive  him  too ;  we  "will 
live  together  —  he  shall  be  your  son. 

JIONS.   DESCHAPPELLES. 

Never  !  Cling  to  him  and  forsake  your  parents  ! 
His  home  shall  be  yours  —  his  fortune  yours  —  his 
fate  yours :  the  Avealth  I  have  acquired  by  honest 
industry  shall  never  enrich  the  dishonest  man. 

PAULINE. 

And  you  would  have  a  wife  enjoy  luxury  while  a 
husband  toils  !  Claude,  take  me ;  thou  canst  not 
give  me  wealth,  titles,  station  —  but  thou  canst  give 
me  a  true  heart.  I  will  work  for  thee,  tend  thee, 
bear  with  thee,  and  never,  never  shall  these  lips  re- 
proach thee  for  the  past. 

DAJIAS. 

I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  am  not  going  to  blubber  ! 

JIELXOTTE. 

This  is  the  heaviest  blow  of  all !  —  What  a  heart  I 
have  wronged  !  —  Do  not  fear  me,  Sir  ;  I  am  not  all 
hardened  —  I  will  not  rob  her  of  a  holier  love  than 
mine.  Pauline  !  —  angel  of  love  and  mercy  !  —  your 
memory  shall  lead  me  back  to  virtue  !  —  The  hus- 
band of  a  being  so  beautiful  in  her  noble  and  sublime 
tenderness  may  be  poor  —  may  be  low-born  ;  — 
(there  is  no  guilt  in  the  decrees  of  Providence  !  )  — 
but  he  should  be  one  who  can  look  thee  in  the  face 
without  a  blush,  —  to  whom  thy  love  does  not  bring 


OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  75 

remorse,  —  who  can  fold  thee  to  his  heart,  and  say, 

"  Here  there  is  no  deceit ! " 1  am  not  that  man  ! 

DAJIAS  (aside  to  jMelnotte). 
Thou   art  a  noble  fellow,   notwithstanding;    and 
wouklst  make  an  excellent  soldier.      Serve  in  my 
regiment.     I  have  had  a  letter  from  the  Directory 

—  our  young  General  takes  the  command  of  the 
army  in  Italy,  —  I  am  to  join  him  at  Marseilles,  — 
I  will  depart  this  day,  if  thou  Avilt  go  with  me. 

BIELNOTTE. 

It  is  the  favor  I  would  have  asked  thee,  if  I  dared. 
Place  me  wherever  a  foe  is  most  dreaded,  —  wher- 
ever France  most  needs  a  life  ! 

DAMAS. 

There  shall  not  be  a  forlorn  hope  without  thee  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

There  is  my  hand!  —  Mother!  your  blessing.  I 
shall  see  you  again,  —  a  better  man  than  a  prince,  — 
a  man  who  has  bought  the  right  to  high  thoughts  by 
brave  deeds.  And  thou  !  —  thou  !  so  wildly  Avor- 
shipped,  so  guiltily  betrayed,  —  all  is  not  yet  lost !  — 
for  thy  memory,  at  least,  must  be  mine  till  death  ! 
If  I  live,  the  name  of  him  thou  hast  once  loved  shall 
not  rest  dishonored ;  —  if  I  fall,  amidst  the  carnage 
and  the  roar  of  battle,  my  soul  will  fly  back  to  thee, 
and  Love  shall  share  with  Death  my  last  sigh !  — 
More  —  more  would  I  speak  to  thee  !  —  to  pray  !  — 
to  bless !  I>ut  no  !  —  When  I  am  less  unworthy,  I 
will  utter  it  to  Heaven!  —  I  cannot  trust  myself  to 

(Junihifi  U)  Desciiappelles.)    Your   pardon, 

Sir  ;  —  they  are  my  last  words —  Farewell ! 

\Exil. 


76  THE   LADY   OF    LYOXS  : 

DA5IAS. 

I  will  go  after  bim.  —  France  "will  thank  me  for 
this. 

[Exit. 
PAULINE  (starting  from  her  father''  s  arms), 
Claude  !  —  Claude  !  —  my  husband  ! 

MONS.   DESCHAPPELLES. 

STou  have  a  father  «tili ! 


OR,    LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  77 


ACT    V. 

Two  years  and  a  half  from  the  date  of  Act  IV. 

ScKNE  I.  —  The  Streets  of  Lyons. 

Enter  First,  Second,  and  Third  Officers. 

FIKST    OF'FICER. 

Well,  here  we  are  at  Lyons,  witli  gallant  old 
Daraas :  it  is  liis  native  place. 

SECOND   OFFICER. 

Yes ;  he  has  gained  a  step  in  the  army  since  he 
was  here  last.  The  Lyonnese  ought  to  be  very 
proud  of  stout  General  Damas. 

TIIIKD    OFFICER. 

Promotion  is  quick  in    the  French  army.     This 
mysterious  Morier  —  the  hero  of  Lodi,  and  the  fa- 
vorite of  the  Commander-in-Chief —  has  risen  to  a 
colonel's  rank  in  two  years  and  a  half. 
Enter  Damas,  as  a  General. 

DAMAS. 

Good  morrow,  gentlemen  ;  I  hope  you  will  amuse 
yourselves  during  our  short  stay  at  Lyons.  It  is  a 
fine  city :  improved  since  I  left  it.  Ah  !  it  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  grow  old,  —  when  the  years  that  bring  decay 
to  ourselves  do  but  ripen  the  prosperity  of  our  coun- 
try.    You  have  not  met  with  Morier? 

FIHST    OFFICER. 

No :  we  were  just  speaking  of  him. 


78  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS  : 

SECOND    OFFICER. 

Pray,  General,  can  you  tell  us  who  this  IMorier 
really  is  ? 

DAMAS. 

Is !  —  why,  a  Colonel  in  the  French  army. 

THIRD    OFFICER. 

True.     But  what  was  he  at  first  ? 

DAJIAS. 

At  first  ?  —  Why,  a  baby  in  long  clothes,  I  suppose. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Ha !  —  ha !  —  Ever  facetious,  General. 

SECOND  OFFICER  (io  Third). 
The  General  is  sore  on  this  point;  you  will  only 
chafe  him.  —  Any  commands.  General  ? 

DAMAS. 

None.  —  Good  day  to  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Second  and  Third  Officers. 

DAJIAS. 

Our  comrades  are  very  in(|uisitive.  Poor  Morier 
is  the  subject  of  a  vast  deal  of  curiosity. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Say  interest,  rather.  General.  His  constant  melan- 
choly, the  loneliness  of  his  habits,  —  his  daring  valor, 
his  brilliant  rise  in  the  profession,  —  your  friendship, 
and  the  favors  of  the  Commander-in-Chief,  —  all 
tend  to  make  him  as  much  the  matter  of  gossip  as  of 
admiration.  But  where  is  he,  General  ?  I  have 
missed  him  all  the  morning. 

DAMAS. 

"\^'hy.  Captain,  I  '11  let  you  into  a  secret.  My 
young  friend  has  come  with  me  to  Lyons  in  hopes  of 
findiiior  a  miracle. 


OR,    LOVK    AXD    PRIDE.  79 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

A  miracle !  — 

DAMAS. 

Yes,  a  miracle  !  in  other  words,  —  a  constant  wo- 
man. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Oh  !  —  an  affair  of  love  I 

DAMAS. 

Exactly  so.  No  sooner  did  he  enter  Lyons  than 
he  waved  his  hand  to  me,  threw  himself  from  his 
horse,  and  is  now,  I  warrant,  asking  every  one  who 
can  know  anything  about  the  matter,  whether  a  cer' 
tain  lady  is  still  true  to  a  certain  gentleman ! 

B'lRST   OFFICER. 

Succ-ens  to  him  !  —  and  of  that  success  there  can 
be  no  doubt.  The  gallant  Colonel  IMorier,  the  hero 
of  Lodi,  might  make  his  choice  out  of  the  proudest 
families  in  France. 

da:mas. 

Oh,  if  pride  be  a  recommendation,  the  lady  and 
her  mother  are  most  handsomely  endowed.  By  the 
way,  Captain,  if  you  should  chance  to  meet  with  ]\Io- 
rier,  tell  him  he  will  find  me  at  the  hotel. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

I  will.  General. 

[  Exit. 

DAMAS. 

Now  will  I  go  to  tlie  Dcschappelles,  and  make  a 
report  to  my  }'oung  Colonel.  Ila  !  by  ]\Iars,  Bac- 
chus, Apollo,  Yirorum,  —  here  comes  Monsieur 
Beauseant ! 


§0.  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS*. 

Enter  Beauseant. 
Good  morroAv,  Monsieur  Beauseant !    How  fares 
it  with  you  ? 

BEAUSEANT  {aside). 
Damas  !  that  is  unfortunate ;  —  if  the  Italian  cam- 
paign should  have  filled  his  pockets,  he  may  seek  to 
baffle  me  in  the  moment  of  my  victory.  (^Aloud.) 
Your  servant,  General,  —  for  such,  I  think,  is  jour 
new  distinction  !     Just  arrived  in  Lyons  ? 

DAMAS. 

Not  an  hour  ago.  AVoll,  how  go  on  the  Deschap- 
pelles  ?  Have  they  forgiven  you  in  that  affair  of 
young  Melnotte  ?  You  had  some  hand  in  that  nota- 
ble device,  —  eh  ? 

BEAUSEAKT. 

Why,  less  than  you  think  for !  The  fellow  im- 
posed upon  me.  I  have  set  it  all  right  now.  "What 
has  become  of  him  ?  He  could  not  have  joined  the 
army,  afler  all.     There  is  no  such  name  in  the  books. 

DAMAS. 

I  know  nothing  about  Melnotte.  As  you  say,  I 
never  heard  the  name  in  the  Grand  Army. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Hem  !  —  Y'ou  are  not  married,  General  V 

DAJIAS. 

Do  I  look  like  a  married  man.  Sir  ?  —  No,  thank 
Heaven !  My  profession  is  to  make  widows,  not 
wives. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Y'ou  must  have  gained  much  booty  in  Italy  !  Pau- 
line will  be  your  heiress  —  eh  ? 


OK,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  81 

DAMAS. 

Booty  !  Not  I !  Heiress  to  what  ?  Two  trunks 
and  a  portmanteau,  —  four  horses,  —  three  swords,  — 
two  suits  of  regimentals,  and  six  pair  of  white  leather 
inexpressibles  !     A  pretty  fortune  for  a  young  lady  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

(Aside.)  Then  all  is  safe!  (Aloud.)  Ha!  ha! 
Is  that  really  all  your  capital,  General  Damas  ? 
Why,  I  thought  Italy  had  been  a  second  Mexico  to 
you  soldiers. 

DAJIAS. 

All  a  toss-up,  sir.  I  was  not  one  of  the  lucky 
ones !  My  friend,  Morier,  indeed,  saved  something 
handsome.  But  our  Commander-in-Chief  took  care 
of  him,  and  Morier  is  a  thrifty,  economical  dog,  — 
not  like  the  rest  of  us  soldiers,  who  sjiend  our  money 
as  carelessly  as  if  it  were  our  blood. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Well,  it  is  no  matter !  I  do  not  want  fortune  with 
Pauline.  And  you  must  know.  General  Damas,  that 
your  fair  cousin  has  at  length  consented  to  reward 
my  long  and  ardent  attachment. 

UAJIAS. 

You  !  —  the  devil !  Why  she  is  already  married ! 
There  is  no  divorce  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

True  ;  but  this  very  day  she  is  formally  to  author- 
ize the  necessary  proceedings,  —  this  very  day  she  is 
to  sign  the  contract  that  is  to  make  her  mine  Avithin 
one  week  from  the  day  on  which  her  present  illegal 
marriage  is  annulled. 
6 


82  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS: 

DAMAS. 

You  tell  me  ■wonders  !  —  AVonders  !     No ;    I  be- 
lieve anything  of  women  ! 

BKAUSKANT. 

I  must  wish  you  good  morning. 

[As  he.  is  (joing ,  enter  Deschappelles. 

MOXS.   DESCHAPPELLES. 

Oh,  Beauseant!  well  met.     Let  us  come  to  the 
notary  at  once. 

DAMAS  [to  Deschappelles.) 
Why,  cousin  ! 

Moxs.  deschappelles. 
Damas,  welcome  to  Lyons.     Pray  call  on  us  ;  ni}- 
wife  will  be  delighted  to  see  you. 

damas. 

Your  wife  be blessed  for  her  condescension  ! 

But  (taking  him  aside)  what  do  I  hear  ?  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  your  daughter  has  consented  to  a  divorce  V 
—  that  she  will  marry  Monsieur  Beauseant  ? 

Moxs.  deschappelles. 
Certainly  I  What  have  you  to  say  against  it !     A 
gentleman  of  birth,  fortune,  character.     We  are  not 
so  proud  as  we  were  ;  even  my  Avife  has  had  enougli 
of  nobility  and  princes  ! 

damas. 
But  Pauline  loved  that  young  man  so  tenderly ! 

MONS.    DESCHAPPELLES    (Idki Hf/  SlUlJf  ). 

That  was  two  years  and  a  half  ago ! 

DAjrAS. 

Very  true.     Poor  j\Ielnotte  ! 


OK,    LOVE    AND    PKIDE.  83 

MOSS.  DESCIIAPPELLES. 

But  do  not  talk  of  that  impostor;  I  hope  ho  is  dead 
or  has  left  the  country.  Nay,  even  were  he  in  Lyons 
at  this  moment  he  ought  to  rejoice  that,  in  an  hon- 
orable and  suitable  alliance,  my  daughter  may  forget 
her  suilerings  and  his  crime. 

DAJIAS. 

Nay,  if  it  be  all  settled,  I  have  no  more  to  say. 
Jlonsieur  Beauseant  informs  me  that  the  contract  is 
to  be  signed  this  very  day. 

MONS.  DESCirAPPELLES. 

It  is ;  at  one  o'clock  precisely.  Will  you  be  one  of 
the  witnesses  ? 

T>AM\S. 

I  ?  —  No  ;  that  is  to  say  —  yes,  certainly  !  —  at 
one  o'clock  I  will  wait  on  you. 

MOXS.  DESCHAPPELEES. 

Till  then,  adieu  —  come,  Beauseant. 

[Exeunt  Beauseant  antZ  Desciiappelles. 

DAJIAS. 

The  man  who  sets  liis  heart  upon  a  woman 

Is  a  chameleon,  and  doth  feed  on  air  ; 

From  air  he  takes  his  colors,  —  holds  his  life,  — 

Changes  with  every  wind,  —  grows  lean  or  fat, 

Rosy  with  hope,  or  green  with  jealousy, 

Or  pallid  with  despair — just  as  the  gale 

Varies  from  north  to  south  —  from  heat  to  cold ! 

Oh,  woman  !  woman  !  thou  shouldest  have  few  sins 

Of  thine  own  to  answer  for  !     Thou  art  the  author 

Of  such  a  book  of  follies  in  a  man. 

That  it  would  need  the  tears  of  all  the  angels 

To  blot  the  record  out ! 


8.4  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS: 

Enter  Melnottk,  pale  and  ar/itated. 
I  need  not  tell  thee  !     Thou  hast  heard  — 


I  have ! 


MELNOTTK. 

The  worst ! 

PA5IAS. 

Be  cheered  ;  others  are  fair  as  she  is  ! 


MELSOTTE. 

Others  !  —  The  world  is  crumbled  at  my  feet ! 
She   zcas   my   world  ;    filled   up   the   whole   of  be- 
ing — 
Smiled  in  the  sunshine —  walked  the  glorious  earth  — 
Sate  in  my  heart —  was  the  sweet  lile  of  life. 
The  past  was  hers ;  I  dreamt  not  of  a  Future 
That  did  not  wear  ber  shape  !     Memory  and  Hope 
Alike  are  gone.    Pciuline  is  faithless  !     Henceforth 
The  universal  space  is  desolate  ! 

DAMAS. 

Hope  yet. 

MELXOTTE. 

Hope,  yes  !  —  one  hope  is  loft  me  still  — 
A  soldier's  grave  !     Glory  has  died  with  love. 
I  look  into  my  heart,  and,  where  I  saw 
Pauline,  see  Death  I 

(Aftei-  a  pause.)  —  But  am  I  not  deceived  ? 
I  went  but  by  the  rumor  of  tlie  town ; 
Rumor  is  false,  —  I  was  too  hasty  !    Damas, 
Whom  hast  thou  seen  ? 

DAMAS. 

Thy  rival  and  her  father. 
Arm  thyself  for  the  truth  —  He  heeds  not  — 


OR,   LOVE   AND   I'lUDE.  85 

MELNOTTE. 

She 
"Will  never  know  how  deeply  she  Avas  loved  ! 
The  charitable  night,  that  wont  to  bring 
Comfort  to  day,  in  bright  and  eloquent  dreams, 
Is  henceforth  leagued  with  misery  !      Sleep,  farewell, 
Or  else  become  eternal !     Oh,  the  waking 
From  false  oblivion,  and  to  see  the  sun, 
And  know  she  is  another's  ! 

1>AMAS. 

Be  a  man ! 

MELNOTTE. 

I  am  a  man  !  —  it  is  the  sting  of  woe 
Like  mine  that  tells  us  we  are  men ! 

DAMAS. 

The  false  one 
Did  not  deserve  thee. 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush  !  —  No  word  against  her ! 
"Why  should  she  keep,  through  years  and  silent  ab- 
sence, 
The  holy  tablets  of  her  virgin  faith 
True  to  a  traitor's  name  !     Oh,  blame  her  not ; 
It  were  a  sharper  grief  to  think  her  worthless 
Than  to  be  what  I  am  !     To-day,  —  to-day  ! 
They  said,  "  To-day  ! "      This  day,  so   wildly  wel- 
comed — 
This  day,  my  soul  had  singled  out  of  time 
And  marked  for  bliss  !   This  day  !  oh,  could  I  see  her, 
See  her  once  more  unknown  ;  but  hear  her  voice. 
So  that  one  echo  of  its  music  might 
^lake  ruin  less  appalling  in  its  silence. 


86  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS: 

DAJIAS. 

Easily  done  !     Come  with  me  to  her  house  ; 

Your  dress  —  your  cloak  —  moustache  —  the  bronzed 

hues 
Of  time  and  toil  —  the  name  you  bear  —  belief 
In  your  absence,  —  all  will  ward  away  suspicion. 
Keep  in  the  shade.     Ay,  I  would  have  you  come. 
There  may  be  hope  !     Pauline  is  yet  so  young, 
They  may  have  forced  her  to  these  second  bridals 
Out  of  mistaken  love. 

jMKLXOTTE. 

No,  bid  me  hope  not ! 
Bid  me  not  hope  !     I  could  not  bear  again 
To  fall  from  such  a  heaven !      One  gleam  of  sun- 
shine, 
And  the  ice  breaks  and  I  am  lost !     Oh,  Damas, 
There 's  no  such  thing  as  courage  in  a  man ; 
The  veriest  slave  that  ever  crawled  from  danger 
Might  spurn  me  now.     When  first  I  lost  her,  Damas, 
I  bore  it,  did  I  not  ?     I  still  had  hope, 
And  now  I  —  I  —  ■^g^ 

[Bursts  into  an  agony  of  giief. 

DAMAS. 

What,  comrade  !  all  the  women 
That  ever  smiled  destruction  on  brave  hearts 
Were  not  worth  tears  like  these ! 

MELNOTTE. 

'T  is  past  —  forget  it. 
I  am  prepared  ;  life  has  no  further  ills ! 
The  cloud  has  broken  in  that  stormy  rain, 
And  on  the  waste  I  stand,  alone  with  Heaven. 


OK,    LOVE    AND    I'llIDE.  87 

DAMAS. 

His  very  face  is  changed ;  a  breaking  heart 
Does  its  work  soon !  —  Come,  JNIelnotte,  rouse  thy- 
self: 
One  effort  more.     Again  thou  'It  see  her. 

JIELNOTTK. 

See  her ! 
There  is  a  passion  in  that  simple  sentence 
That  shivers  all  the  pride  and  power  of  reason 
Into  a  chaos ! 

DAMAS. 

Time  Avanes ;  —  come,  ere  yet 
It  be  too  late. 

JIELNOTTK. 

Terrible  words  —  "  Too  late  ! " 
Lead  on.      One  last  look  more,  and  then 

DAMAS. 

Forget  her ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Forget  her,  yes  !  —  For  death  remembers  not. 

[^Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 


A  room  in  the  house  of  ^Io^sikvr  Deschappelles;  Pau- 
line seated  in  tjreat  (lejeciion. 

I'AULINK. 

It  is  so,  then.     I  must  be  false  to  Love, 
Or  sacrifice  a  lather!     Oh,  my  Claude, 


o8  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS  : 

My  lover,  and  my  husband  !     Have  I  lived 
To  pray  that  thou  mayest  find  some  fairer  boon 
Than  the  deep  fiiith  of  this  devoted  heart,  — 
Nourished  till  now  —  now  broken  ? 

Enter  Monsieur  Deschappelles. 

MONS.   DESCHAPPELLES. 

My  dear  child, 
How  shall  I  thank — how  bless  thee  ?  Thou  hast  saved, 
I  will  not  say  my  fortune  —  I  could  bear 
Reverse,  and  shrink  not  —  but  that  prouder  wealth 
Which  merchants  value  most  —  my  name,  my  cred- 
it— 
The  hard-won  honors  of  a  toilsome  life  :  — 
These  thou  hast  saved,  my  child  ! 

PAULINE. 

Is  there  no  hope  ? 
No  hope  but  this  ? 

BIOXS.    DESCHAPPELLES. 

None.     If,  without  the  sum 
Which  Beauseant  offers  for  thy  hand,  this  day 
Sinks  to  the  west  —  to-morrow  brings  our  ruin  ! 
And  hundreds,  mingled  in  that  ruin,  curse 
The  bankrupt  merchant  I  and  the  insolvent  herd 
We  feasted  and  made  merrj'  cry  in  scorn, 
"  How  pride  has  fallen !  —  Lo,  the  bankrupt  mer- 
chant ! " 
"My  daughter,  thou  hast  saved  us  ! 

PAULINE. 

And  am  lost ! 

5IONS.    DESCHAPPELLES. 

Come,  let  me  hoj^jc  that  Beauseaut's  love 


OR,   LOVE   AND    PRIDE.  89 

PAULINE. 

His  love  ! 
Talk  not  of  love.     Love  has  no  thought  of  self! 
Love  buys  not  with  the  ruthless  usurer's  gold 
The  loathsome  prostitution  of  a  hand 
AVithout  a  heart  ?     Love  sacrifices  all  things 
To  bless  the  thing  it  loves !     He  knows  not  love. 
Father,  his  love  is  hate  —  his  hope  revenge  ! 
My  tears,  my  anguish,  my  remorse  for  falsehood  — 
These  are  the  joys  that  he  wrings  from  our  despair  ! 

MONS.    DESCHAITELLES. 

If  thou  deemest  thus,  reject  him  !     Shame  and  ruin 
AVere  better  than  thy  misery  ;  —  think  no  more  on  't. 
]\Iy  sand  is  well-nigh  run  —  what  boots  it  when 
The  glass  is  broken  ?     AVe  '11  annul  the  contract : 
And  if  to-morrow  in  the  prisoner's  cell 
These  aged  limbs  are  laid,  why  still,  my  child, 
1  '11  think  thou  art  spared ;  and  wait  the  Liberal  Hour 
That  lays  the  beggar  by  the  side  of  kings  ! 

PAULINE. 

No  —  no  — forgive  me  !   You,  my  honored  father, — 
You,  who  so  loved,  so  cherished  me,  whose  lips 
Never  knew  one  harsh  word  !     1  'm  not  ungrateful ; 
1    am  but  human  !  —  hush  !      Now,    call  the  bride- 
groom — 
You  see  I  am  prepared  —  no  tears  —  all  calm ; 
But,  father,  talk  no  more  of  love  ! 

MONS.    DESCHAPPKLLKS. 

My  child, 
'Tis  but  one  struggle  ;  he  is  young,  rich,  noble; 
Thy  state  will  rank  first  'mid  the  dames  of  Lyons  ; 


90  THE    LADY    OF    LYOXS  : 

And  wlicn  this  heart  can  shcUer  thee  no  more, 
Thy  youth  will  not  be  guardianless. 

PAULINE. 

I  have  set 
]Mj"  foot  upon  the  ploughshare  —  I  will  pass 
The  fiery  ordeal.     (Anide.)     INIeiriful  Heaven,  sup- 
port me ! 
And  on  the  absent  wanderer  shed  the  light 
Of  happier  stars  —  lost  evermore  to  me  ! 

£nter   JIad.\3ie  Desciiappet.les,   Beauseaxt,    Glavis, 
and  Notary. 

MADAME   UESCIIArPELLES. 

"Why,  Pauhne,  you  are  quite  in  cleshahille  —  you 
ou<iht  to  be  more  alive  to  the  importance  of  this  joy- 
ful occasion.  We  had  once  looked  higher,  it  is  true  ; 
but  you  see,  after  all,  INIonsieur  Beauseant's  father 
teas  a  INIarquis,  and  that 's  a  great  comfort !  Pedi- 
gree and  jointure  1  —  you  have  them  both  in  ]Mon- 
sieur  Beauseant.  A  young  lady  decorously  brought 
up  should  only  have  two  considerations  in  her  choice 
of  a  husband :  —  first,  is  his  birth  honorable,  — 
secondly,  will  his  death  be  advantageous  ?  All  other 
trifling  details  should  be  left  to  parental  anxiety  ! 

Beauseant  (approaildng  andwavinfj  aside  Madame). 

Ah,  Pauline  !  let  me  hope  that  you  are  reconciled 
to  an  event  which  confers  such  rapture  upon  me. 

PAULINE. 

I  am  reconciled  to  my  doom. 
i;eauseaxt. 
Doom-is  a  harsh  Avord,  sweet  lady. 

/PAULINE  (aside). 
This  man  must  have  some  mercy  —  his  heart  can- 


OR,    LOVE    AND    PKIDE.  91 

not  be  marble.  (Aluud.)  Oh,  Sir,  be  just  —  be 
generous  !  —  Seize  a  noble  triumph  —  a  great  re- 
venge !  —  Save  the  father,  and  spare  the  child  ! 

BKAUSExVNT  (aside). 

Joy  — joy  alike  to  my  hatred  and  my  passion ! 
The  haughty  Pauline  is  at  last  my  suppliant.  (^Aloud.^ 
You  ask  from  me  what  I  have  not  the  sublime  virtue 
to  grant  —  a  virtue  reserved  only  for  the  gardener's 
son  !  I  cannot  forego  my  hopes  in  the  moment  of 
their  fulfilment !  —  I  adhere  to  the  contract  —  }our 
father's  ruin  or  your  hand  ! 

r.VULINK. 

Then  all  is  over.  —  Sir,  I  have  decided. 

[  The  clock  strikes  one. 
Enter  Damas  and  ^Ielnotte. 

PAMAS. 

Your  servant,  cousin  Deschappelles.  —  Let  me 
introduce  Colonel  Morier. 

MADAME  DESCHAPPELLES  {coiivtesijing  Very  low). 
What,  the  celebrated  hero  ?     This  is,  indeed,  an 
honor ! 

[Melnotte  hows,  and  remains  in  the  htukfjround. 
DAMAS  [to  Pauline). 
Isly  little  cousin,  I  congratulate  30U  !     What,  no 
smile  —  no  l)lush  ?     You  are  going  to  be  divorced 
from  poor  iNIehiotte,  and  marry  this  rich  gentleman. 
You  ought  to  be  excessively  happy ! 

PAULINE. 

Happy  ! 

IJAMAS. 

Why,  how  pale  you  are,  child!  —  Poor  Pauline! 
Hist  —  confide  in  me  I     Do  they  force  you  to  this  ? 


92  THK    LADY    OF    LYONS  I 


No! 

DAJIAS. 

You  act  with  your  own  free  consent  ? 

I'AULINE. 

My  own  consent  —  yes. 

PAMAS. 

Then  you  are  the  most  —  I  will  not  say  what  jou 
are  ! 

TAULIXE. 

You  thuik  ill  of  me  —  be  it  so  —  yet  if  you  knew 
all 

DA5IAS. 

There  is  some  mystery — speak  out,  Pauline. 
PAULINE  {suddenly). 

Oh !  perhaps  jou  can  save  me  !  you  are  our  re- 
lation—  our  friend.  My  father  is  on  the  verge  of 
bankruptcy  —  this  day  he  rei^uires  a  large  sum  to 
meet  demands  that  cannot  be  denied  ;  that  sum  Beau- 
soant  will  advance  —  this  hand  the  condition  of  the 
barter.  Save  me  if  you  have  the  means  —  save  me  ! 
You  will  be  repaid  above  ! 

DAJIAS  [aside). 

I  recant  —  Women  are  not  so  bad  after  all !  — 
(Aloud.^  Humph,  child  !  I  cannot  help  you  —  lam 
too  poor ! 

TAULIXE. 

The  last  plank  to  which  I  clung  is  shivered  ! 

DAMAS. 

Hold  —  you  see  my  friend  Morier  :  i\Ielnotte  is 
his  most  intimate  friend  —  fought  in  the  same  fields 


OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  93 

—  slept  in  the  same  tent.  Have  you  any  mes- 
sage to  send  to  ]\Ielnotte  ?  —  any  word  to  soften 
this  blow  ? 

PAULINE. 

He  knows  Melnotte  —  he  will  see  him  —  he  will 
bear  to  him  my  last  farewell  —  (approaches  Mel- 
notte) —  He  has  a  stern  air  —  he  turns  away  from 
me  —  he  despises  me  !  —  Sir,  one  word  I  beseech 
you. 

MELNOTTK. 

Her  voice  again !  How  the  old  time  comes  o'er 
me  ! 

DAiMAs  {to  ^Madame). 

Don't  interrupt  them.  He  is  going  to  tell  her 
what  a  }'oung  rascal  young  Melnotte  is;  he  knows 
him  well,  I  promise  you. 

JtADAMI-;   DESCHAPPELLES. 

So  considerate  in  j'ou,  cousin  Damas! 

[Damas  approaches  Deschappelles;  converses  apart 
with  him  in  dumb  show.  —  Deschappelles  shows 
Mm  a  pajier,  ichlch  he  inspects  and  takes. 

PAULINE. 

Thrice  liave  I  sought  to  spealc ;  my  courage  fails  me.  — 
Sir,  is  it  true  that  you  have  known  —  nay,  are 
The  friend  of—  Melnotte  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Lady,  yes  !  —  INIyself 
And  Misery  know  the  man  ! 

PAULINE. 

And  30U  will  see  him, 
And  you  will  bear  to  him  —  ay  —  word  for  word, 


94  THE   LADY   OF    LYONS  : 

All  that  this  heart,  which  breaks  in  parting  from  him, 
Would  send,  ere  still  for  ever  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

He  hath  told  me 
You  have  the  right  to  choose  from  out  the  world 
a!  worthier  bridegroom  ;  —  he  foregoes  all  claim, 
Even  to  murmur  at  his  doom.  —  Speak  on  ! 

PAULINE. 

Tell  hira,  for  years  I  never  nursed  a  thought 
That  was  not  his ;  —  that  on  his  wandering  way, 
Daily  and  nightly,  poured  a  mourner's  prayers. 
Tell  him  ev'n  now  that  I  would  rather  share 
His  lowliest  lot,  —  walk  by  his  side,  an  outcast, — 
Work  for  him,  beg  with  him,  — live  upon  the  light 
Of  one  kind  smile  from  him,  —  than  wear  the  crown 
The  Bourbon  lost ! 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

Am  I  already  mad  ? 
And  does  delirium  utter  such  sweet  words 
Into  a  dreamer's  ear  ?  (Aloud.)    You  love  him  thus, 
And  yet  desert  him  ? 

PAULINE. 

Say,  that,  if  his  eye 
Could  read   this   heart, — its   struggles,  its   tempta- 
tions,— 
His  love  itself  would  pardon  that  desertion  ! 
Look  on  that  poor  old  man, —  he  is  my  father; 
He  stands  upon  the  verge  of  an  abyss  !  — 
He  calls  his  child  to  save  him  !     Shall  I  shrink 
From  him  who  gave  me  birth  ?  —  withhold  my  hand, 
And  see  a  parent  perish  ?    Tell  him  this, 
And  say  —  that  we  shall  meet  again  in  Heaven  I 


OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  95 

MEI.NOTTE. 

Lady  —  I  —  I  —  what  is  lliis  riddle  ?  —  what 
The  iiatui'e  of  this  sacrifice  ? 

PAULINE  (pointing  to  Damas). 

Go,  ask  him ! 

BEAUSEANT  (from  the  tulle). 
The  papers  are  prejiarcd  —  we  only  need 
Your  hand  and  seal. 

MELSOTTE. 

Sta}^,  lady  —  one  word  more. 
"Were  but  your  duty  with  your  faith  united, 
Would  you  still  share  the  low-born  peasant's  lot  ? 

PAULINE. 

Would  I  ?     Ah,  better  death  with  him  I  love 
Than  all  the  pomp  —  which  is  but  as  the  tiowers 
That   crown   the  victim! — (^Turninfj  awai/.)    I  am 
ready. 

[Melnotte  rushes  to  Damas. 

DAMAS. 

There  — 
This  is  the  schedule  —  this  the  total. 

BEAUSEANT  {to  Deschafpelles  sliowing  notes). 

These 
Are  yours  the  instant  she  has  signed  ;  j^ou  are 
Still  the  great  house  of  Lyons ! 

\^The  Notary  is  about  to  hand  the  contract  to  Pauline,  when 
Melnotte  seizes  it  and  teai-s  it. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Are  you  mad  ? 

MONS.    DESCHAPPELLES. 

How,  Sir !    What  means  this  insult  ? 


96  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  : 

MELNOTTE. 

Peace,  old  man ! 
I  have  a  prior  claim.     Before  the  face 
Of  man  and  Heaven  I  urge  it ;  I  outbid 
Yon  sordid  huckster  for  your  priceless  jewel. 

[  Giving  a  pocket-book. 
There  is  the  sum  twice  told  !     Blush  not  to  take  it  : 
There  's  not  a  coin  that  is  not  bought  and  hallowed 
In  the  cause  of  nations  with  a  soldier's  blood  ! 

BEAUSEAXT. 

Torments  and  death ! 

PAULINE. 

That  voice !    Thou  art  — 

MELNOTTE. 

Th}'  husband ! 
[Pauline  rushes  into  his  arms. 
Look  up !    Look  up,  Pauline  !  —  for  I  can  bear 
Thine  eyes !    The  stain  is  blotted  from  my  name. 
I  have  redeemed  mine  honor.     I  can  call 
On  France  to  sanction  thy  divine  forgiveness ! 
Oh,  joy  !  —  Oh,  rapture  !    By  the  midnight  watch- 
fires 
Thus  have  I  seen  thee !  thus  foretold  this  hour ! 
And  'midst  the  roar  of  battle,  thus  have  heard 
The  beating  of  thy  heart  against  my  own ! 

beauseant. 
Fooled,  duped,  and  triumphed  over  in  the  hour 
Of  mine  own  victory  !     Curses  on  ye  both  ! 
]\Iay  thorns  be  planted  in  the  marriage-bed  ! 
And  love  grow  soured  and  blackened  into  hate, 
Such  as  the  hate  that  gnaAvs  me  ! 


OR,   LOVK   AXD    PKIBE.  97 

DAMAS. 

Curse  away ! 
And  let  me  tell  thee,  Beauseant,  a  wise  proverb 
The  Arabs  have,  —  "  Curses  are  like  young  chickens, 
(^Sulemnli/.^     And  still  come  home  to  roost !  " 

BEAUSEANT. 

Their  happiness 
Maddens  my  soul !  I  am  powerless  and  revengeless  ! 

[  To  JIadame. 
I  wish  you  joy  !    Ha !  ha  !     The  gardener's  son  ! 

[Exit. 

DAMAS   (to    GlAVIS). 

Your  friend  intends  to  hang  himself!     Methinks 
You  ought  to  be  his  travelling  companion ! 

GLAVIS. 

Sir,  you  are  exceedingly  obliging ! 

PAULINE. 

Oh! 
"My  father,  j'ou  are  saved,  —  and  by  my  husband  ! 
Ah,  blessed  hour  1    ' 

MELNOTTE. 

Yet  you  weep  still,  Pauline  ! 

PAULINE. 

But  on  thy  breast !  —  these  tears  are  sweet  and  holy  ! 

SIGNS.   DESCIIAPPELLES. 

You  have  won  love  and  honor  nobly.  Sir  I 
Take  her;  —  be  happy  both  ! 

JIADA.ME   DESCIIAPPELLES. 

I  'm  all  astonished  I 
AVho,  then,  is  Colonel  Morier  V 

7 


98  THK  LADY  OF  LYONS. 

DAMAS. 

You  behold  Lim  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Morler  no  more  after  this  happy  day  ! 

I  would  not  bear  again  my  father's  name 

Till  I  could  deem  it  spotless  !    The  hour 's  come  ! 

Heaven  smiled  on  Conscience  !     As  the  soldier  rose 

From  rank  to  rank,  how  sacred  was  the  fame 

That  cancelled  crime,  and  raised  him  nearer  thee  ! 

MADAME   DESCHAPrELLES. 

A  colonel  and  a  hero  !     Well,  that 's  somethine; ! 
He  's  wondrously  improved  !     I  wish  you  joy,  Sir  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Ah !  the  same  love  that  tempts  us  into  sin, 
If  it  be  true  love,  works  out  its  redemption ; 
And  he  who  seeks  repentance  for  the  Past 
Should  woo  the  Ansfel  Virtue  in  the  future  1 


RICHELIEU 


oi:, 


THE   CONSPIRACY. 


"  Le  Comte  de  Soissons,  et  le  Due  de  Bouillon,  avaient  une 
bonne  arinee,  et  ils  savaient  la  conduire;  et  pour  plus  grande 
surete,  tandis  que  cette  arniee  devait  s'avancer,  on  devait  assassi- 
ncr  le  Cardinal  et  faire  so\i!ever  Paris.  .  .  .  Les  Conjures  faisient 
un  traite  avec  I'Espagne  pour  introduire  des  troupes  en  France, 
et  pour  y  mettre  tout  en  contusion  dans  une  Regenco  qu'on  croyait 
procliainc,  et  dont  cliacun  esperait  uroliter.  .  .  .  Richelieu  avail 
perdu  toute  sa  faveur,  et  ne  conservait  que  I'avantage  d'etre 
nercssaire.  Le  bonheur  du  Cardinal  voulut  encore  que  le  com- 
plot  Alt  decoavert,  et  qu'une  copie  du  traite  lui  torabat  entre  les 
mains."  —  Voltaire,  Ifist,  Oen, 

9   • 


PREFACE, 


The  administration  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  whom 
(despite  all  his  darker  qualities)  Voltaire  and  His- 
tory justly  consider  the  true  architect  of"  the  French 
monarch)-,  and  the  great  parent  of  French  civ- 
ilization, is  characterized  by  features  alike  tragic 
and  comic.  A  weak  king  —  an  ambitious  favorite  ; 
a  despicable  conspiracy  against  the  minlstei",  nearly 
alwa}'s  associated  with  a  dangerous  treason  against 
the  State  —  these,  with  little  variety  of  names  and 
dates,  constitute  the  eventful  cycle  through  which, 
with  a  dazzling  ease,  and  an  arrogant  confidence, 
the  great  luminary  fulfilled  its  destinies.  Blent  to- 
gether, in  startling  contrast,  we  see  the  grandest 
achievements  and  the  pettiest  agents ;  —  the  spy  — 
the  mistress  —  the  capuchin  ;  —  the  destruction  of 
feudalism;  —  the  humiUation  of  Austria  ;  —  the  dis- 
memberment of  Spain. 

Richelieu  himself  is  still  what  he  was  in  his  own 
da}-,  —  a  man  of  two  characters.  If,  on  the  one 
hand,  he  is  justly  represented  as  inflexible  and  vin- 
dictive, crafty  and  unscrupulous ;  so,  on  the  other, 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  was  placed  in  times  in 
which  the  long  impunity  of  every  license  recjuired 
stern  examples,  —  that  he  was   beset  by  perils  and 


J  02  PREFACE. 

intrigues,  wliich  gave  a  certain  excuse  to  the  subtlest 
inventions  of  self-defence,  —  that  liis  ambition  was 
inseparably  connected  with  a  passionate  love  for  the 
glory  of  his  country,  —  and  that,  if  he  was  her  dic- 
tator, he  was  not  less  her  benefactor.  It  has  been 
fairly  remarked,  by  the  most  impartial  historians, 
that  he  was  no  less  generous  to  merit  than  severe  to 
crime,  —  that,  in  the  various  departments  of  the 
State,  the  Army,  and  the  Church,  he  selected  and 
distinguished  the  ablest  aspirants,  —  that  the  wars 
which  he  conducted  were,  for  the  most  part,  essential 
to  the  preservation  of  France,  and  Europe  itself, 
from  the  formidable  encroachments  of  the  Austrian 
House,  —  that,  in  spite  of  those  wars,  the  people 
were  not  oppressed  with  exorbitant  imposts,  —  and 
that  he  left  the  kingdom  he  had  governed  in  a  more 
flourishing  and  vigorous  state  than  at  any  former 
period  of  the  French  history,  or  at  the  decease  of 
Louis  XIV. 

The  cabals  formed  against  this  great  statesman 
were  not  carried  on  by  the  patriotism  of  public  vir- 
tue, or  the  emulation  of  equal  talent ;  they  were  but 
court  struggles,  in  which  the  most  worthless  agents 
had  recourse  to  the  most  desperate  means.  In  each, 
as  I  have  before  observed,  we  see  combined  the  two- 
fold attempt  to  murder  the  minister  and  to  betray 
the  country.  Such,  then,  are  the  agents,  and  such 
the  designs  with  which  truth,  in  the  Drama  as  in 
History,  recjuires  us  to  contrast  the  celebrated  Car- 
dinal ;  —  not  disguising  his  foibles  or  his  vices,  but 
not  unjust  to  the  grander  qualities  (especially  the 


103 


love  of  country)  by  which  they  were  often  dignified, 
and,  at  times,  redeemed. 

Tiie  historical  drama  is  the  concentration  of  his- 
torical events.  In  the  attempt  to  place  upon  the 
stage  the  picture  of  an  era,  that  license  with  dates 
and  details,  which  Poetry  permits,  and  which  the 
highest  authorities  in  the  drama  of  France  herself 
have  sanctioned,  has  been,  though  not  unsparingly, 
indulged.  The  conspiracy  of  the  Due  de  Bouillon 
is,  for  instance,  amalgamated  with  the  denouement 
of  The  Dai/  of  Dupes ;  *  and  circumstances  con- 
nected with  the  treason  of  Cinq  Mars  (whose  bril- 
liant youth  and  gloomy  catastrophe  tend  to  subvert 
poetic  and  historic  justice,  by  seducing  us  to  forget 
his  base  ingratitude  and  his  perfidious  apostasy)  are 
identified  with  the  fate  of  the  earlier  favorite,  Bara- 
das,f  whose  sudden  rise  and  as  sudden  fall  passed 
into  a  proverb.  I  ought  to  add,  that  the  noble  ro- 
mance of  "  Cinq  Mars  "  suggested  one  of  the  scenes 


*  "  Le  Cardinal  se  croit  perdu,  et  prepare  sa  retraite.  Ses  amis 
liii  conscillent  de  tenter  enfiii  aiipres  du  Roi  un  noiivel  eflort. 
Le  Cardinal  va  trouver  le  Roi  a  Versailles.  Le  Rt>i,  iiui  avait 
sacritie  son  niinistre  par  faiblesse,  se  remit  par  faiblessc  entre  ses 
mains,  et  il  lui  abandonne  ceux  qui  I'avaient  perdu.  Co  jour  qui 
est  encore  a  present  ap|)elle  La  Journee  des  Dupes,  fut  celui  du 
ponvoir  absolu  du  Cardinal." —  Voltaire,  Hint.  Oeii. 

t  "En  six  mois  il  (le  Roi)  fit  (Baradas)  premier  Ecuyer,  pre- 
mier Gentilhomnie  de  la  Chainbre,  Capitaine  de  St.  Germain,  et 
Lieutenant  de  Roi,  en  Clianipagnc.  En  moins  de  temps  encore,  on 
lui  Ota  tout,  et  des  debris  de  sa  grandeur,  a  peine  Ini  rcsta-t-il  do 
quoi  payer  ses  dettes  :  de  sorte  que  pour  signitier  une  grande  for- 
tune dissipee  aussi  qii'acquise  on  disait  en  commun  proverbe, 
Fortune  de  Baradas."  —  Anquetil. 


104 


in  the  fifth  act ;  and  that  for  the  conception  of  some 
portion  of  the  intrigue  connected  with  ])e  IMauprat 
and  Juhe,  I  am,  with  great  alterations  of  incident, 
and  considerable  if  not  entire  reconstruction  of  char- 
acter, indebted  to  an  early  and  admirable  novel  by 
the  author  of  "  Picciola."  * 

London,  March,  1839. 

*  It  may  be  as  well,  however,  to  caution  the  English  reader 
against  some  of  the  impressions  which  the  eliiqnenco  of  both  the 
writers  I  refer  to  are  calculated  to  leave.  They  have  exagger- 
ated the  more  evil,  and  have  kept  out  of  sight  the  nobler  ([ualities 
of  the  Cardinal. 


NOTE. 


The  length  of  the  Plaj^  necessarily  requires  curtailments 
on  the  Stage,  —  tlie  principal  of  wliich  are  enclosed  within 
brackets.  Many  of  the  passages  thus  omitted,  however  im- 
material to  the  audience,  nnist  obviously  be  such  as  the 
reader  would  be  least  inclined  to  dis))ense  with,  —  viz.  tliose 
which,  witliout  being  absolutely  essential  to  the  business  of 
the  Stage,  contain  either  the  subtler  strokes  of  character,  or 
the  more  poetical  embellishments  of  description.  An  im- 
portant consequence  of  these  suppressions  is,  that  Riche- 
lieu himself  is  left,  too  often  and  too  unrelievedly,  to  posi- 
tions which  place  him  in  an  amiable  light,  without  that 
shadowing  forth  of  his  more  sinister  motives  and  his  fiercer 
qualities,  which  is  attempted  in  the  written  plaj\  Thus, 
the  character  takes  a  degree  of  credit  due  only  to  the  situa- 
tion. To  judge  the  Author's  conception  of  Richelieu  fairly, 
and  to  estimate  how  far  it  is  consistent  with  historical  por- 
traiture, the  Play  must  be  read. 


THE  MARQUIS    OF   LANSDOWNE,   K.  G., 

&c.  &c., 

THIS     D  E  A  JI  A 

IS    INSCRIBED, 

IN  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  TALENTS  WHICH   COMMAND,  AND  THE 
QUALITIES  WHICH  ENDEAR,  RESPECT. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 


Louis  the  Thirteenth. 

Gaston,  Duke  of  Orleans,  brother  to  Louis  the  Thirteenth. 

'Baradas,  favorite  of  the  Kitiff,  First  Gentleman  oj"  the  Cham- 
ber, Premier  JScuyer,  SfC. 

Cardinal  Richelieu. 

The  Chevalier  de  jNIauprat. 

The  Sieur  de  Bekinghen,  in  attendance  on  the  King,* 
one  of  the  Conspirators. 

Joseph,  a  Capuchin,  Richelieu's  confidant. 

HuGUET,  an  officer  of  RichelieiCs  household  guard,  —  a  Spy. 

Francois,  First  Page  to  Richelieu. 

First  Courtier. 

Captain  of  the  Archers. 

First,  Second,  Third  Secretaries  of  State. 

Governor  of  the  Bastile. 

Gaoler. 

Courtiers,  Pages,  Consjnrators,  Officers,  Soldiers,  SfC. 

Julie  de  Mortemar,  an  Orphan,  ward  to  Richelieu. 
Marion  de  Lorme,  3Iistress  to  Orleans,  but  in  Richelieu's 
pay. 

*  Properly  speaking,  the  King's  First  Valet  de  Cliambre,  —  a 
post  of  great  importance  at  that  time. 


EICHELIEU: 

OR, 

THE   CONSPIEACY 


ACT   I. 

FIRST    DAY. 


Scene  I.  —  A  room  in  the  house  of  Marion  de  Lorme  ;  a 
table  toioards  the  front  of  the  statje  (with  wine,  fruits,  <fc.)) 
at  which  are  seated  Baradas,  Four  Courtiers,  splendidly 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  1641-2;  —  the  Duke  of  Or- 
leans reclining  on  a  large  fauteuil ;  —  Marion  de  Loujie 
standing  at  the  back  of  his  chair,  offers  him  a  goblet,  and 
then  retires.  At  another  table,  De  Beringhen,  De  JIau- 
TiiAT,  plar/ing  at  dice  ;  other  Courtiers,  of  inferior  rank  to 
those  at  the  table  of  the  Duke,  looking  on. 
ORLEANS  (drinking). 
Here  's  to  our  enterprise  !  — 

BARADAS  (glancing  at  Marion). 
Hush,  Sir !  — 

ORLEANS  (aside). 

Nay,  Count, 
You  may  trust  her ;  she  doats  on  me ;  no  house 
So  safe  as  Marion's.     *[At  our  stateUer  homes 

*  The  passages  enclosed  in  brackets  are  omitted  in  representa- 
tation. 


108  RICHELIEU  : 

The  very  Avails  do  play  the  eaA'es-dropper. 
There's  not  a  sunbeam  creeping  o'er  our  floors 
But  seems  a  glance  from  that  malignant  eye 
Which  reigns  o'er  France  ;  our  fatal  greatness  lives 
In  the  sharp  glare  of  one  relentless  day. 
But  Richelieu's  self  forgets  to  fear  the  sword 
The  myrtle  hides  ;  and  Marion's  silken  robe 
Casts  its  kind  charity  o'er  fiercer  sins 
Than  those  which  haunt  the  rosy  path  between 
The  lip  and  eye  of  beauty.  —  Oh,  no  house 
So  safe  as  Marion's.] 

BARADAS. 

Still,  we  have  a  secret. 
And  oil  and  water  —  woman  and  a  secret  — 
Are  hostile  properties. 

ORLEANS. 

Well  —  ^Marion,  see 
How  the  play  prospers  yonder. 

[Marion  goes  to  the  next  table,  looks  on  for  a  few  mo- 
ments,  then  exit. 

BARADAS  (jn'odncing  a  parchment). 

I  have  now 
All  the  conditions  drawn ;  it  only  needs 
Our  signatures :  vipon  receijjt  of  this, 
(Whereto  is  joined  the  schedule  of  our  treaty 
With  the   Count-Duke,*  the  Richelieu  of  the  Es- 

curial,) 
Bouillon  will  join  his  army  with  the  Spaniard, 
!March  on  to  Paris,  —  there,  detln-one  the  King  : 

*  Olivares,  Minister  of  Spain. 


OK,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  109 

You  will  be  Regent ;  I,  and  ye,  my  Lords, 
Form  the  new  Council.     So  much  for  the  core 
Of  our  great  scheme. 

ORLEAXS. 

But  Richelieu  is  an  Argus  ; 
One  of  his  hundred  eyes  will  light  upon  us, 
And  then  —  good-by  to  life. 

BARADAS. 

To  gain  the  prize 
We  must  destroy  the  Argus :  —  a}',  my  Lords, 
The  scroll  the  core,  but  blood  must  fill  the  veins. 
Of  our  design  ;  —  while  this  despatched  to  Bouillon, 
Richelieu    despatched    to   Heaven  1  —  The   last  my 

charge. 
!Meet  here  to-morrow  night.      You,  Sir,  as  first 
In  honor  and  in  hope,  meanwhile  select 
Some  trusty  knave  to  bear  the  scroll  to  Bouillon  ; 
']\lidst  Richelieu's  foes  1  'II  find  some  desperate  hand 
To  strike  for  vengeance,  while  we  stride  to  jjower. 

ORLEANS. 

So  be  It ;  —  to-morrow,  midnight.  —  Come,  my  Lords. 

\_Exeunt  Orleans,  and  the  Courtiei's  in  Ms  train. 
Those  at  the  other  table  rise,  salute  Orleans,  and 
re-seat  themselves. 

de  bekinghen. 
Double  the  stakes. 

de  mauprat. 
Done. 
de  beringhen. 

Bravo ;  faith,  it  shames  me 
To  bleed  a  purse  already  i7i  extremis. 


110  RICHELIEU: 

r>E   MAUPKAT. 

Nay,  as  you  've  had  the  patient  to  yoiu'self 
So  long,  no  other  doctor  should  despatch  it. 

[De  Maupkat  ihroics  and  loses- 

05IXES. 

Lost !     Ha,  ha  !  —  poor  De  Mauprat ! 

DE    BERISGHEN. 

One  throw  more  ? 
DE  jiauprat. 
No;  I  am  bankrupt  (jjusJiinf/  gold).     There  goes  all 
—  except 

My  honor  and  my  sword. 

[They  rise. 

DE  EERIXGHEN. 

Long  cloaks  and  honor 
Went  out  of  vogue  together,  when  we  found 
We  got  on  much  more  rapidly  without  them ; 
The  sword,  indeed,  is  never  out  of  fashion,  — 
The  Devil  has  care  of  that. 

FIRST   GAMESTER. 

Ay,  take  the  sword 
To  Cardinal  Richelieu  :  —  he  gives  gold  for  steel, 
When  worn  by  brave  men. 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Richelieu ! 

DE   BERIXGHEX    (toBARADAS). 

At  that  name 
He  changes  color,  bites  his  nether  lip. 
Ev'n  in  his  briglitest  moments  whisper ''  Richelieu," 
And  you  cloud  all  his  sunshine. 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  Ill 

BARADAS. 

I  have  marked  it, 
And  I  win  learn  the  wherefore. 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

The  Egyptian 

Dissolved  her  richest  jewel  In  a  draught : 

AV^ould  I  could  so  melt  time  and  all  its  treasures, 

And  drain  It  thus. 

[Drinking. 

DE    BERIXGIIEN. 

Come,  gentlemen,  what  say  ye, 
A  walk  on  the  parade  ? 

OMNES. 

Ay  ;  come,  De  Mauprat. 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Pardon  me ;  we  shall  meet  again  ere  nightfall. 

BARADAS. 

I  '11  stay  and  comfort  Mauprat. 

DE   BERINGHEX.  . 

Comfort !  —  when 
We  gallant  fellows  have  run  out  a  friend, 
There  's  nothing  left  —  except  to  run  him  through ! 
There 's  the  last  act  of  friendship. 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Let  me  keep 
That  favor  in  reserve ;  in  all  beside 
Your  most  obedient  servant. 

[£xeu7it  De  Beringhen,  cfc.     Ifanent  De  Maupkat 
and  Baradas. 

BARADAS. 

You  have  lost  — 
Yet  are  not  sad. 


112  RICHELIEU: 

DE   MAUPHAT. 

Sad  !  —  Life  and  gold  have  wings, 
And  must  fly  one  day  :  —  open,  then,  their  cages 
And  wish  them  merry. 

BAKADAS. 

Yoli  're  a  strange  enigma  :  — 
Fiery  in  war  —  and  yet  to  glory  lukewarm ; 

All  mirth  in  action  —  in  repose  all  gloom 

These  are  extremes  in  Avhich  the  unconscious  heart 

Betrays  the  fever  of  deep-fixed  disease. 

Confide  in  me  I  our  young  days  rolled  together 

In  the  same  river,  glassing  the  same  stars 

That  smile  i'  the  heaven  of  hope  ;  alike  we  made 

Bright-winged  steeds  of  our  unformed  chimeras, 

Spurring  the  fancies  upward  to  the  air, 

Wherein  we  shaped  fair  castles  from  the  cloud. 

Fortune  of  late  has  severed  us  —  and  led 

Me  to  the  rank  of  Courtier,  Count,  and  Favorite,  — 

You  to  the  titles  of  the  wildest  gallant 

And  bravest  knight  in  France  ;  are  you  content  ? 

No  ;  —  trust  in  me  —  some  gloomy  secret 

DE    MAUPRAT. 

Ay:- 
A  secret  that  doth  haunt  me,  as,  of  old. 
Men  were  possessed  of  fiends  !  —  Where'er  I  turn. 
The   grave    yawns  dark   before    me !  —  I  tvill   trust 

you ;  — 
Hating  the  Cardinal,  and  beguiled  by  Orleans, 
You  know  I  joined  the  Languedoc  revolt  — 
Was  captured  —  sent  to  the  Bastile 


OR,   THE    CONSPIRACY.  113 

BARADAS. 

But  shared 
The  general  pardon,  which  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
Won  for  himself  and  all  in  the  i-evolt, 
Who  but  obeyed  his  orders. 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Note  the  phrase  ;  — 
"  Obeyed  Ids  orders.""     Well,  when  on  my  way 
To  join  the  Duke  in  Languedoc,  I  (then 
The  down  upon  my  lip  —  less  man  than  boy) 
Leading  young  valors,  reckless  as  myself, 
Seized  on  the  town  of  Faviaux,  and  displaced 
The  Royal  banners  for  the  Rebel.     Orleans, 
(Never  too  daring,)  when  I  reached  the  camp. 
Blamed  me  for  acting  —  mark  —  tvithout  his  orders : 
Upon  this  quibble  Richelieu  razed  my  name 
Out  of  the  general  pardon. 

BAEADAS. 

Yet  released  you 
From  the  Bastile 

r)E   MAUPRAT. 

To  call  me  to  his  presence, 
And  thus  address  me  :  —  "  You  have  seized  a  town 
Of  France,  without  the  orders  of  your  leader, 
And  for  this  treason,  but  one  sentence  —  Death." 

BARADAS. 

Death ! 

DE    MALTRAT. 

"  I  have  pity  on  your  youth  and  birth, 
Nor  wish  to  glut  the  headsman; — join  your  troop. 
Now  on  the  march  against  the  Spaniards  ;  —  change 


114  RICHELIEU : 

The  traitor's  scaffold  for  the  soldier's  grave  :  — 
Tour  memory  stainless  —  they  who  shared  your  crime 
Exiled  or  dead  —  your  king  shall  never  learn  it." 

PARADAS. 

0  tender  pity  !  —  O  most  charming  prospect ! 
Blown  into  atoms  by  a  bomb,  or  drilled 

Into  a  cullender  by  gunshot !  —  Well  ?  — 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

You  have   heard  if  I  fought   bravely.  —  Death  be- 
came 
Desired  as  Daphne  by  the  eager  Day-god. 
Like  him  I  chased  the  nymph  —  to  grasp  the  laurel ! 

1  could  not  die  ! 

BAEADAS. 

Poor  fellow  ! 

DE  MAUl'RAT. 

AVhen  the  Cardinal 
Reviewed    the     troops,   his   eye   met    mine  ;  —  he 

frowned, 
Summoned  me  forth  —  "  How  's  this  ?  "  quoth  he  ; 

"  you  have  shunned 
The    sword  —  beware   the   axe  !  —  't  will   fall   one 

day!" 
He  left  me  thus  —  we  were  recalled  to  Paris, 
And  —  you  know  all ! 

BARADAS. 

And,  knowing  this,  why  halt  you, 
Spelled  by  the  rattlesnake,  —  while  in  the  breasts 
Of  your  firm  friends  beat  hearts,  that  vow  the  death 
Of  your  grim  tyrant '?  —  "Wake  !  —  Be  one  of  us ; 
The  time  invites  —  the  King  detests  the  Cardinal, 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  115 

Dares  not  disgrace  —  but  groans  to  be  delivered 
Of  tiiat  too  great  a  subject  —  join  your  friends, 
Free  France,  and  save  yourself. 

DE  MAUPRAT. 

Husli !  Richelieu  bears 
A  charmed  life ;  —  to  all,  who  have  braved  his  power, 
One  common  end  —  the  block. 

BARADAS. 

Nay,  if  he  live, 
The  block  your  doom ;  — 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Better  the  victim,  Count, 
Than  the  assassin.  —  France  requires  a  Richelieu, 
But  does  not  need  a  Mauprat.     Truce  to  this ;  — 
All  time  one  midnight,  where  my  thoughts  are  spec- 
tres. 
What  to  me  fame  ?  —  What  love  ?  — 

BAEADAS. 

Yet  dost  thou  love  not  ? 

DE  MAUPRAT. 

Love  ?  —  I  am  young  — 

BARADAS. 

And  Julie  fair  !    (^Aside.)  It  is  so. 
Upon  the  margin  of  the  grave  —  his  hand 
Would  pluck  the  rose  that  I  would  win  and  wear ! 
[(Aloud.)     Thou  lov'st  — 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

^^Iio,  lonely  in  the  midnight  tent, 
Gazed  on  the  watch-fires  in  the  sleepless  air, 
Nor  chose  one  star  amidst  the  clustering  hosts 


116  KICIIKLIEU  : 

To  bless  it  in  the  name  of  some  fair  face 
Set  in  his  spirit,  as  that  star  in  Heaven  ? 
For  our  divine  Afteetions,  lilie  the  Spheres, 
]\Iove  ever,  ever  musical. 

BARADAS. 

You  speak 
As  one  who  fed  on  poetry. 

DK   JIALTEAT. 

^Vhy,  man, 
The  thoughts  of  lovers  stir  with  poetry 
As  leaves  witli  summer-wind.  —  The  heart  that  loves 
Dwells  in  an  Eden,  hearing  angel-lutcs. 
As  Eve  in  the  First  Garden.     Hast  thou  seen 
My  Julie,  and  not  felt  it  henceforth  dull 
To  live  in  the  common  world  —  and  talk  in  words 
That  clothe  the  feelings  of  the  frigid  herd  ?  — 
Upon  the  perfumed  pillow  of  her  lips  — 
As  on  his  native  bed  of  roses  flushed 
AVith  Paphian  skies  —  Love  smilling  sleeps :  —  Her 

voice 
The  blest  interpreter  of  thoughts  as  pure 
As  virgin  wells  where  Dian  takes  delight, 
Or  Fairies  dip  their  changelings  !  —  In  the  maze 
Of  her  harmonious  beauties  —  Modesty 
(Like  some  severer  Grace  that  leads  the  choir 
Of  her  sweet  sisters)  every  airy  motion 
Attunes  to  such  chaste  charm,  that  Passion  holds 
His  burning  breath,  and  will  not  with  a  sigh 
Dissolve  the  spell  that  binds  him ! —  Oh  those  eyes 
That  woo  the    earth  —  shadowing   more   soid    than 

lurks 


OK,    THK    CONSPIRACY.  117 

Under  the  lids  of  Psyche  !  —  Go  !  —  thy  lip 
Curls  at  the  purfled  phrases  of  a  lover  — 
Love  thou,  and  if  thy  love  be  deep  as  mine, 
Thou  wilt  not  laugh  at  poets. 

BAiiADAS  (aside). 

With  each  word 
Thou  wak'st  a  jealous  demon  in  my  heart, 
And  my  hand  clutches  at  my  hilt.  —  ] 

DE  MAUPRAT  {(jayhj). 

No  more  !  — 

I  love  !  —  Your   breast   holds  both   my   secrets ;  — 
Never 

Unbury  either !  —  Come,  while  yet  we  may, 

We  '11  bask  us  in  the  noon  of  rosy  life  :  — 

Lounge  through  the  gardens,  —  flaunt  it  in  the  tav- 
erns, — 

Laugh,  —  game,  —  drink,  —  feast :  —  If  so  confined 
my  days, 

Faith,    1  '11    enclose    the    nights.  —  Pshaw !    not    so 
grave ; 

I  'm  a  true  Frenchman  !  —  Vive  la  hagatelle  ! 

\_As   they   are    (jointj  out,  enter  Huguet  and  four  Ar- 
quebusiers. 

HUGUET. 

INIessire  De  Mauprat,  I  arrest  you  !  —  Follow 
To  the  Lord  Cardinal. 

DE  5IAUPRAT. 

You  see,  my  friend, 
3  'm  out  of  my  suspense  !  —  the  tiger 's  played 
Long  enough  with  his  prey.  —  Farewell !  —  Hereafter 


118  RICHELIEU: 

Say,  Tvlien  men  name  me,  "  Adrien  de  Mauprat 
Lived  without  hope,  and  perished  -without  fear !  " 
[Exeunt  De  I^Iaupkat,  Huguet,  cfc. 

BARADAS. 

Farewell !  —  I  trust  for  ever  !     I  designed  thee 

For    Richelieu's     murderer but,    as    well    his 

martyr ! 

In  childhood  }ou  the  stronger  —  and  I  cursed  you  ; 

In  youth  the  fairer  —  and  I  cui-sed  you  still ; 

And  now  my  ri\'al !  —  AVhile  the  name  of  Julie 

Hung  on  thy  lips  —  I  smiled  —  for  then  I  saw, 

In  my  mind's  eye,  the  cold  and  grinning  Death 

Hang  o'er  thy  head  the  pall !  —  Ambition,  Love, 

Ye  twin-born  stars  of  daring  destinies, 

Sit  in  my  house  of  Life  !  —  By  the  King's  aid 

I  will  be  Julie's  husband  —  in  despite 

Of  my  Lord  Cardinal  !  —  by  the  King's  aid 

I  will  be  minister  of  France  —  in  spite 

Of  my  Lord  Cardinal !  —  And  then  —  what  then  ? 

The  King  loves  Julie  —  feeble  Prince  —  false  mas' 

ter  — 

[Producing  and  gming  on  the  jiarchment. 

Then,  by  the  aid  of  Bouillon,  and  the  Spaniard, 

I  will  dethrone  the  King  ;  and  all  —  ha  !  —  ha  !  — 

All,  in  despite  of  my  Lord  Cardinal ! 

[Exit. 


OR,    THE   CONSPIRACY.  119 


SCENE  II. 

A  room  in  ike  Palais  Cardinal,  the  walls  hung  with  arras. 

A  large  screen  in  one  corner.  A  table  covered  with  books, 
papers,  cfo.     A  rude  clock  in   a  recess.      Busts,   statues, 

book-cases,  weapons  of  different  pei'iods  and  banners  sus- 
pended over  RiCHEi-iEu's  chair. 

EiCHELiEU  and  Joseph. 

KICHELIEU. 

And  so  you  think  this  new  conspiracy 

The  craftiest  trap  yet  laid  for  the  old  fox  ? 

Fox!— Well,   I   like   the   nickname !  — What    did 

Plutarch 
Say  of  the  Greek  Lysander  ? 

JOSEPH. 

I  forget. 

EICHELIEU. 

That  where  the  lion's  skin  fell  short,  he  eked  it 
Out  with  the  fox's  !     A  great  statesman,  Joseph, 
That  same  Lysander  ! 

JOSEPH. 

Orleans  heads  the  traitors. 

RICHELIEU. 

A  very  wooden  head  then  !     Well  ? 

JOSEPH. 

The  favorite, 
Count  Baradas  — 

RICHELIEU. 

A  weed  of  hasty  growth ; 
First  gentleman  of  the  chamber — titles,  lands, 


120  Richelieu: 

And  the  King's  ear  !  —  It  cost  me  six  long  ■winters 
To  mount  as  high,  as  in  six  little  moons 

This  painted  lizard But  I  hold  the  ladder, 

And  when  I  shake  —  he  falls  !     AVhat  more  ? 

JOSEPH. 

A  scheme 
To  make  your  orphan-ward  an  instrument 
To  aid  your  foes.     You  placed  her  Avith  the  Queen, 
One  of  the  royal  chamber,  —  as  a  watch 
r  th'  enemy's  quarters  — 

KICHELIEU. 

And  the  silly  child 
Visits  me  daily,  —  calls  me  "  Father,"  —  prays 
Kind  Heaven  to  bless  me  —  And  for  all  the  rest. 
As  well  have  placed  a  doll  about  the  Queen  ! 
She  does  not  heed  who  frowns  —  Avho  smiles ;  with 

whom 
The  King  confers  in  whispers ;  notes  not  when 
Men  who  last  week  were  foes,  are  found  in  corners 
]\Iysteriously  affectionate  ;  words  spoken 
Within  closed  doors  she  never  hears  ;  —  by  chance 
Taking  the  air  at  keyholes  —  Senseless  puppet ! 
No    ears  —  nor  eyes  I  —  and  }-et   she    sajs  —  "  She 

loves  me ! " 
Go  on 

JOSEPH. 

Yom'  ward  has  charmed  the  King 

EICHELIEU. 

Out  on  you ! 
Have  I  not,  one  by  one,  from  such  fair  shoots 
Plucked  the  insidious  ivy  of  his  love  ? 


OR,    THE    CONSPinACY.  121 

And  shall  it  creep  aronncl  my  blossoming  tree, 
Where  innocent  thoughts,  like  happy  birds,   make 

music 
That  spirits  in  Heaven  might  hear  ?  —  They  're  sin- 
ful too. 
Those  passionate  surfeits  of  the  rampant  flesh. 
The  Church  condemns  them ;  and  to  us,  my  Joseph, 
The  props  and  pillars  of  the  Church,  most  hurtful. 
The  King  is  weak  —  Avhoever  the  King  loves 
jNlust  rule  the  King ;  the  lady  loves  another. 
The  other  rules  the  lady  —  thus  we  're  balked 
Of  our  own  proper  sway  —  The  King  must  have 
No   goddess  but  the    State :  —  the    State  —  That 's 
Richelieu  ! 

josF.rii. 

This  not  the  worst ;  —  Louis,  in  all  decorous, 
Anil  deeming  you  her  least  compliant  guardian, 
Would  veil  his  suit  by  marriage  with  his  minion. 
Your  prosjierous  foe,  Count  Baradas  ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Ha!  ha! 

I  have  another  bride  for  Baradas. 


You,  my  Lord  ? 

P.ICHELIEU. 

Ay  —  more  faithful  than  the  love 
Of  fickle  woman :  —  when  the  head  lies  lowliest, 
Clasping  him  fondest ;  —  Sorrow  never  knew 
So  sure  a  soother,  —  and  her  bed  is  stainless! 


122  KICIIELIEU  : 

JOSEPH  (asiffe). 
If  of  the  grave  he  speaks,  I  do  not  •wonder 
That  priests  are  bachelors  ! 

Enter  Fkancgis. 
FEAN901S. 

Mademoiselle  De  Mortcmar 

RICHELIEU. 

Most  opportune  —  admit  her. 

[Exit  Fkanoois. 

In  my  closet 
You  '11  find  a  rosary,  Joseph  ;  ere  }ou  tell 
Three  hundred   beads,   I  '11   summon   you.  —  Stay, 

Joseph ;  — 
I  did  omit  an  Ave  in  my  matins,  — 
A  grievous  fiiult;  —  atone  it  for  me,  Joseph  ; 
There  is  a  scourge  -vvithin ;  I  am  weak,  you  strong. 
It  were  but  charity  to  take  my  sin 
On  such  broad  shoulders.     Exercise  is  healthful. 

JOSEPH. 

I  !  guilty  of  such  criminal  presumption 
As  to  mistake  myself  for  j'ou  —  No,  ne^'er  ! 
Think  it  not !  —  (^Aside.^  Troth,  a  pleasant  invita- 
tion ! 

[Exit  Joseph. 

Enter  Julie  De  SIortemak. 

lilCHELIEU. 

Tiiat  's  my  sweet  Julie  !  —  why,  upon  this  face 
Blushes  such  daybreak,  one  might  swear  the  Morning 
Were  come  to  visit  Tithon. 


on,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  123 

JULIE  (placinr/  herself  at  his  feet). 

Are  you  gracious  ?  — 
IMay  I  say  "  Father  "  ? 

KICHELIKU. 

Now  and  ever  ! 

JULIE. 

Father ! 
A  sweet  word  to  an  orphan. 

KICHELIEU. 

No ;  not  orphan 
AYliile  RicheUeu  lives  ;  thy  father  loved  me  well ; 
]\Iy  friend,  ere  I  had  flatterers  (now,  I  'm  great, 
In  other  phrase,  I  'ni  friendless)  —  he  died  young 
In  years,  not  service,  and  bequeathed  thee  to  me ; 
And  thou  shalt  have  a  dowry,  girl,  to  buy 
Thy  mate  amidst  the  mightiest.    Drooping  ?  —  sighs  ? 
Art  thou  not  happy  at  the  court  ? 

JULIE. 

Not  often. 
KICHELIEU  {aside). 
Can  she  love  Baradas  ?  —  Ah  !  at  thy  heart 
There 's  what  can  smile  and  sigh,  blush  and   grow 

pale, 
All  in  a  breath  ?  —  Thou  art  admired  —  art  young ; 
Does  not  his  Majesty  commend  thy  beauty  — 
Ask  thee  to  sing  to  him  '?  —  and  swear  such  sounds 
Had  smoothed  the  brows  of  Saul  ?  — 

JULIE. 

He 's  very  tiresome, 
Our  worthy  King. 


124  RICHELIEU  : 

KICIIELIEU. 

Fie  !  kings  are  never  tiresome, 
Save  to  their  ministers.  —  AVIiat  courtly  gallants 
Charm  ladies  most  ?  —  De  Sourdiac,  Longuevillc,  or 
The  favorite  Baradas  ? 

JULIK. 

A  smileless  man  — 
I  fear  and  shun  him. 

RICHELIEU. 

Yet  he  courts  thee  ? 

JULIE. 

Then 
He  is  more  tiresome  than  his  ^lajesty. 

KICniiLIEU. 

Right,  girl,  shun  Baradas.  —  Yet  of  these  flowers 
Of  France,  not  one,  in  whose  more  honeyed  breath 
Thy  heart  hears  Summer  whisper  ? 
Enter  Huguet. 

HUGUET. 

The  Chevalier 
De  Maviprat  waits  below. 

JULIK  (starting  up). 

De  ISIauprat ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Hem ! 
He  has  been  tiresome  too  !  —  Anon. 

{Exit  PIuGUET. 
JULIE. 

What  doth  he  ?  — 
I  mean  —  I  —  Does  your  Eminence  —  that  is  — 
Know  you  Messire  de  Maujirat  ? 


OK,    THE    COXSPIRACY.  125 

KICHKLIKU. 

Well !  ■ —  and  you 

Has  he  addressed  you  often  ? 

JULIE. 

Often!— No  — 
Nine  times  ;  —  nay,  ten  ;  —  the  last  time,  by  the  lat- 
tice 
Of  the    great    staircase.  —  (/;i    a  melanchohj   tone.') 
The  Court  sees  him  rarely 

KICHELIEU. 

A  bold  and  forward  royster  ? 

JULIE. 

He  ?  —  nay,  modest, 
Gentle,  and  sad,  methinks 

RICHELIEU. 

Wears  gold  and  azure  ? 

JULIE. 

No ;  sable. 

RICIIFXIEU. 

So  you  note  his  colors,  Julie  ? 
Shame  on  yon,  child  ;  look  loftier.     By  the  mass, 
I  have  business  with  this  modest  gentleman. 

JULIE. 

You  're  angry  with  jioor  Julie.     There  's  no  cause. 

lUCHELlKU. 

No  cause  —  you  hate  my  foes  ? 

JULIE. 

I  do ! 

EICIIELIEU. 

Hate  ]\Iauprat  ? 


126  RICHELIEU: 

JULIE. 

Not  Mauprat.     No,  not  Adrien,  father. 

KICHELIEU. 

Adrien ! 
Familiar !  —  Go,  child  ;  no,  —  not  that  way  ;  —  wait 
In  the  tapestry  chamber ;  I  will  join  you,  —  go. 

JULTE. 

His  brows  are  knit ;  —  I  dare  not  call  him  father ! 

But  I  must  speak  —  Your  Eminence 

KICHELIEU  {sternlij). 

Well,  girl ! 

JULIE. 

Nay- 
Smile  on  me  —  one  smile  more  ;  there,  now  I  'm  happj". 
Do  not  rank  Mauprat  with  your  foes ;  he  is  not, 
I  know  he  is  not ;  he  loves  France  too  well. 

RICHELIEU. 

Not  rank  De  Mauprat  Avitli  my  foes?     So  be  It. 
I  '11  blot  him  from  that  Hst. 

JULIE. 

That 's  my  own  father. 
[Exit  Julie. 
EICHELIEU  {ringing  a  small  bell  on  the  table). 
Huguet ! 

Enter  Huguet. 
De  ]\Iauprat  struggled  not,  nor  murmured  ? 

HUGUET. 

No ;  proud  and  passive. 

EICHELIEU. 

Bid  him  enter.  —  Hold : 
Look  that  he  hide  no  weapon.     Humph,  despair 


OR,    THK   CONSPIRACY.  127 

Makes  victims  sometimes  victors.  When  he  has 
enti^red 

Glide  round  unseen  ;  —  place  thyself  yonder  (^point- 
ing to  the  screen')  ;  watch  him  ; 

If  he  show  violence  —  (let  me  see  thy  carbine  ; 

So,  a  good  weapon  ;)  —  if  lie  play  the  lion, 

Why  —  the  dog's  death. 

HUGUET. 

I  never  miss  my  mark. 
[Exit  Huguet;  Eichelieu  scats  himself  at  the  table,  and 
slowly   arranges   the  j^apeis  before  him.     Enter  De 
Maupkat  preceded  by  Huguet,  who  then  retires  be- 
hind the  screen. 

EICHEMEU. 

Approach,  Sir.  —  Can  you  call  to  mind  the  hour. 
Now  three  years  since,  when  in  this  room,  raethinks, 
Your  presence  honored  me  ? 

DE    MAUPKAT. 

It  is,  my  Lord, 

One  of  my  most 

KICHELIEU  {dryly). 
Delightful  recollections.* 

DE    BEAUPKAT  (aside). 

St.  Denis  !  doth  he  make  a  jest  of  axe 
And  headsman  ? 


*  Tliero  are  many  anecdotes  of  tlio  irony,  often  so  terrible,  in 
which  Richelieu  indulged.  But  he  had  a  lo^'e  for  humor  in  its 
more  hearty  and  genial  shape.  He  would  send  for  Boisrohert 
''to  make  him  laugli,"  —  and  grave  ministers  and  magnates 
waited  in  the  anteroom,  wliilo  the  great  Cardinal  listened  and 
resi)onded  to  tJie  sallies  of  the  lively  wit. 


128  RICHELIKU: 

RICHELIEU  {sternly). 
I  did  then  accord  you 
A  mercy  ill  requited  —  you  still  live  ! 

DE    MAUPliAT. 

To  meet  death  face  to  face  at  last. 
[kichelieu. 

Your  woi'ds 
Are  bold. 

DE    MALTRAT. 

!My  deeds  have  not  belied  them. 

EICHELIEU. 

Deeds ! 
O  miserable  delusion  of  man's  pride  ! 
Deeds !  cities  sacked,  fields  ravaged,  hearths  profaned. 
Men  butchered  !     In  your  hour  of  doom  behold 
The  (leech  you  boast  of !     From  rank  showers  of  blood, 
And  the  red  light  of  blazing  roofs,  you  build 
The  Rainbow  Glory,  and  to  shuddering  Conscience 
Cry,  —  Lo,  the  Bridge  to  Heaven  ! 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

If  war  be  sinful, 
Your  hand  the  gauntlet  cast. 

KICHELIEU. 

It  was  so,  Sir. 
Note  the  distinction  :  —  I  Aveighed  well  the  cause 
AVhich  made  the  standard  holy ;  raised  the  war 
But  to  secure  the  j^eace.     France  bled  —  I  groaned  •, 
But  looked  beyond ;  and,  in  the  vista,  saw 
France  saved,  and  I  exulted.     You  —  but  you 
Were  but  the  tool  of  slaughter  —  knowing  naught, 
Foreseeing  naught,  naught  hoping,  naught  lamenting, 


OR,    THE   CONSPIRACY.  129 

And  for  nanght  fit —  save  cutting  tliroats  for  hire. 
Deeds,  marry,  deeds  ! 

DE   JIAUPKAT. 

If  yoii  would  deign  to  speak 
Thus  to  your  armies  ere  they  march  to  battle, 
Perchance  your  Eminence  might  have  the  pain 
Of  the  throat-cutting  to  yourself. 

KICHELIEU  {aside). 

He  has  wit, 
This    Mauprat  —  (Aloud.)     Let    it    pass ;    there    is 

against  you 
AVhat  you  can  less  excuse.]     Messire  de  ]Mauj)rat, 
Doomed  to  sure  death,  how  hast  thou  since  consumed 
The  time  allotted  thee  for  serious  thought 
And  solemn  penitence  ? 

DK  MAUPUAT  (emljftrrasseil). 

The  time,  in}'  Lord  ? 

EICHKLIEU. 

Is  not  the  question  plain  ?     I  '11  answer  for  thee. 
Thou  hast  sought  nor  priest  nor  shrine :  no  sackcloth 

chafed 
Thy  delicate  flesh.    The  rosary  and  the  death's-head 
Have  not,  with  pious  meditation,  purged 
Earth  from  the  carnal  gaze.     What  thou  hast  7iot  done 
Brief  told ;  what  done,  a  volume  !     AVild  debauch, 
Turbulent  riot:  —  for  the  morn  the  dice-box  — 
Noon  claimed  the  duel  - —  and  the  night  the  wassail ; 
Tliese,  your  most  holy,  pure  preparatives 
For  death  and  judgment.     Do  I  wrong  you,  Sir? 

DE   MAUI'P.AT. 

I  was  not  alwa}'s  thus :  —  if  changed  my  nature, 
9 


130  RICHELIEU: 

Blame  that  -which  changed  my  fate.  —  Alas,  my  Lord, 
[There  is  a  broUierhood  which  calm-eyed  Reason 
Can  wot  not  of  betwixt  Despair  and  Mirth. 
My  birth-place  'mid  the  vines  of  sunny  Provence, 
Perchance  the  stream  that  sparkles  in  my  veins 
Came  from  that  wine  of  passionate  life  which,  erst, 
Glowed  in  the  wild  heart  of  the  Troubadour : 
And  danger,  which  makes  steadier  courage  wary, 
But  fevers  me  with  an  insane  delight  ; 
As  one  of  old  avIio  on  the  mountain  crags 
Caught  madness  from  a  Magnad's  haunting  eyes. 
AV'ere  you,  my  Lord,  —  whose  path  imperial  power, 
And  the  grave  cares  of  re\'erent  wisdom,  guard 
From  all  that  tempts  to  folly  meaner  men,  —  ] 
Were  you  accursed  with  that  which  you  inflicted  — 
By  bed  and  board,  dogged  by  one  ghastly  spectre  — 
The  while  within  you  youth  beat  high,  and  life 
Grew  lovelier  from  the  neighboring  frown  of  death  — 
The  heart  no  bud,  nor  fruit  —  save  in  those  seeds 
Most  worthless,  Avhich  spring  up,   bloom,  bear,  and 

wither 
In  the  same  hour  —  Were  this  jour  fate,  perchance 
You  would  have  erred  like  me  ! 

RICHELIEU. 

I  might,  like  you, 
Have  been  a  brawler  and  a  reveller ;  —  not, 
Like  you,  a  trickster  and  a  thief.  — 

Di<;  siAUPKAT  {adcancing  threateningly). 

Lord  Cardinal ! 
Unsay  those  words  !  — 

[HuGUET  deliberately  raises  the  carbine. 


OU,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  131 

EiCHELiEU  {icavinfj  his  hand). 

Not  quite  so  quick,  friend  Huguet; 
IMessire  de  Mauprat  is  a  patient  man, 
And  he  can  wait !  — 

You  have  outrun  your  fortune ;  — 
I  blame  you  not,  that  you  would  be  a  beggar  — 
Each  to  his  taste  !  —  But  I  do  charge  }0u,  Sir, 
That,  being  beggared,  you  Avould  coin  false  moneys 
Out  of  that  crucible,  called  debt.  —  To  live 
On  means  not  yours  —  be  brave  in  silks  and  laces, 
Gallant  in  steeds  —  s^jlendid  in  bam^uets ;  —  all 
Not  yours  —  ungiven  —  uninherited  —  unpaid  for;  — 
This  is  to  be  a  trickster ;  and  to  filch 
Men's  art  and  labor,  which  to  them  is  wealth. 
Life,  daily  bread,  — •  quitting  all  scores  with  —  "Friend, 
You  're  troublesome  !  " — Why  this,  forgive  me. 
Is  what  —  when  done  with  less  daint}-  grace  — 
Plain  folks  call  "  Tlieft !  "  — •  You  owe  eight  thousand 
pistoles 

INIinus  one  crown,  two  liards  ! 

UE  MAUPKAT  {aside). 

The  old  conjurer  !  — 
'Sdeath,  he  '11  inform  me  next  how  many  cups 
I  drank  at  dinner  !  — 

RICHELIEU. 

This  is  scandalous. 

Shaming  your  birth  and  blood. 1  tell  you,  Sir, 

That  you  must  pay  your  debts.  — 

DE   SIAUPltAT. 

^Yith  all  my  heart, 
1\I)'  Lord.  —  Where  shall  I  borrow,  then,  the  money  ? 


132  RICHELIEU: 

EiCMELiEU  {aside  atid  laughing). 
A  humorous  dare-devil !  —  The  very  man 
To  suit  my  purpose  —  ready,  frank,  and  bold  ! 

[Rising  ami  earnestly. 
Adrien  de  Mauprat,  men  have  called  me  cruel;  — 
I  am  not ;  —  I  am  Just  !  —  I  found  France  rent  asun- 
der, — 
The  rich  men  despots,  and  the  poor  banditti;  — 
Sloth  in  the  mart,  and  schism  within  the  temple ; 
Brawls  festering  to  Rebellion  ;  and  weak  Laws 
Rotting  away  with  rust  in  antique  sheaths. — 
I  have  re-created  France ;  and,  from  the  ashes 
Of  the  old  feudal  and  decrepit  carcase, 
Civilization  on  her  luminous  wings 
Soars,  phoenix-like,  to  Jove  !  —  What  was  my  art  ? 
Genius,    some    say,  —  some.    Fortune,  —  Witchcraft 

some. 
Not  so ;  —  my  art  was  Justice  !  —  Force  and  Fraud 
Misname  it  cruelty  —  you  shall  confute  them! 
My  champion  you  !  —  You  met  me  as  your  foe. 
Depart   my  friend  —  You    shall    not  die.  —  France 

needs  you. 
You  shall  wipe  off  all  stains,  —  be  rich,  be  honored, 

Be  great. 

[De  '},Iavv'r\t  falls  on  his  knee  —  Richelieu  raises  him. 
I  ask,  Sir,  in  return,  this  hand, 
To  gift  it  with  a  bride,  whose  dower  shall  match, 
Yet  not  exceed,  her  beauty. 

de   JIAUl'KAT. 

I,  my  Lord,  —  (Jiesitatinrj) 
I  have  no  wish  to  marry. 


OR,    THE    COXSPIUACY.  133 

KICHELIEU. 

Surely,  Sir, 
To  die  were  "worse. 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Scarcely ;  the  poorest  coward 
]\Iust  die,  —  but  knowingly  to  march  to  marriage  — 
JNIy  Lord,  it  asks  the  courage  of  a  lion  ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Traitor,  thou  triflest  with  me  !  —  I  know  all ! 
Thou  hast  dared  to  love  my  ward  —  my  charge. 

DE   SIAUPIIAT. 

As  rivers 
May  love  the  sunlight  —  basking  in  the  beams. 
And  hurrying  on  !  — 

KICHELIEU. 

Thou  hast  told  her  of  thy  love  ? 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

I\Iy  Lord,  if  I  had  dared  to  love  a  maid. 

Lowliest  in  France,  I  would  not  so  have  wronged  her, 

As  bid  her  link  rich  life  and  virgin  hope 

With  one,  the  deathman's  gripe  might,  from  her  side, 

Pluck  at  the  nuptial  altar. 

KICHELIEU. 

I  believe  thee ; 
Yet  since  she  knows  not  of  thy  love,  renounce  her ;  -- 
Take  life  and  fortune  with  another !  —  Silent  ? 

DE    MAUPKAT. 

Your  fete  has  been  one  triumph  —  You  know  not 
How  blessed  a  thing  it  was  in  my  dark  hour 
To  nurse  the  one  sweet  thought  you  bid  me  banish. 
Love  hath  no  need  of  words  ;  —  nor  less  within 


134  RICHELIEU: 

That  holiest  temple  —  the  Heaven-builderl  soul  — 
Breaths    the   recorded    vow. —  Base    knight,  —  falsa 

lover 
"Were  he,  who  bartered  all  that  brightened  grief, 
Or  sanctified  despair,  for  life  and  gold. 
Revoke  your  mei'cy  ;  —  I  prefer  the  fate 
I  looked  for ! 

EICHELIEU. 

Huguet  !  to  the  tapestry  chamber 
Conduct  }-our  prisoner.     ( To  Maupkat.) 

You  will  there  behold 
The  executioner :  —  your  doom  be  private  — 
And  Heaven  have  mercy  on  you  !  — 

DK    MAUPKAT. 

When  I  am  dead, 
Tell  her,  I  loved  her. 

P.ICHELIEU. 

Keep  such  follies.  Sir, 
For  fitter  ears  ;  —  go  — 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Does  he  mock  me  ? 

[Exeunt  De  Maupkat,  Huguet. 

P.ICHELIEU. 

Joseph ! 
Come  forth. 

Enter  Joseph. 

INIethinks  your  cheek  hath  lost  its  rubies  ; 
I  fear  you  have  been  too  lavish  of  the  flesh ; 
The  scourge  is  heavy. 

JOSEPH. 

Pray  you,  change  the  subject. 


OK,   THE    CONSPIUACY.  135 

RICHELIEU. 

You  good  men  are  so  modest  —  Well,  to  business  ! 
Go   instantly  —  deeds  —  notaries  !  —  bid   my  stew> 

ards 
Arrange  my  liouse  by  the  Luxembourg  —  my  house 
No  more  !  —  a  bridal  present  to  my  ward, 
Who  weds  to-morrow. 

JOSEPH. 

Weds,  with  whom  ? 

RICHELIEU. 

De  Mauprat. 

JOSEPH. 

Penniless  husband  ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Bah  !  the  mate  for  beauty 
Should  be  a  man ,  and  not  a  money-chest ! 
When  her  brave  sire  lay  on  his  bed  of  death, 
I  ^•owed  to  be  a  father  to  his  Julie  :  — 
And  so  he  died  —  the  smile  upon  his  lips  !  — 
And  when  I  spared  the  life  of  her  young  lover, 
Me  thought  I  saw  that  smile  again  !  —  Who  else, 
Look  )ou,  in  all  the  court — who  else  so  well 
Brave  or  supplant  the  favorite ;  —  balk  the  King  — 
Baffle  their  schemes  V  —  I  have  tried  him  :  —  He  has 

honor 
And  courage ;  —  qualities  that  eagle-plume 
Men's  souls,  —  and  fit  them  for  the  fiercest  sun, 
Which  ever  melted  the  weak  waxen  minds 
That  flutter  in  the  beams  of  gaudy  Power  ! 
Besides,  he  has   taste,   this  Mauprat :  —  When  my 

play 


136  RICHELIEU: 

Was  acted  to  dull  tiers  of  lifeless  gapers,* 
Who  had  no  soul  for  poetry,  I  saw  him 
Applaud  in  the  proper  places  ;  —  trust  me,  Joseph, 
He  is  a  man  of  an  unconnuon  promise  ! 

JOSEPH. 

And  yet  your  foe. 

P.ICHELIEU. 

Have  I  not  foes  enow  ?  — 
Great  men  gain  doubly  when  they  make  foes  friends. 
Remember  my  grand  maxims :  —  First  employ 
All  methods  to  conciliate.f 

*  The  Abbe  Arnaiid  tells  us  that  the  (iiieeii  was  a  little 
avniged  on  the  Cardinal  by  the  ill  success  of  the  tragi-conicdy  of 
"  Jliranie  "  —  more  tlian  suspected  to  be  his  own  —  thoui;h  pre- 
sented to  the  world  under  the  foster-name  of  Dcsmarets.  Its  rep- 
resentation (says  Pelisson)  cost  him  300,000  crowns.  He  was  so 
transported  out  of  himself  by  tlie  performance,  that  at  one  time  he 
thrust  his  pers<m  half  out  of  liis  box  to  show  himself  to  the  as- 
sembly ;  at  anorther  time  he  imposed  silence  on  the  audience,  that 
they  might  not  lose  "  des  endroits  encore  plus  beauz  !  "  He  said  af- 
terwards to  Desmarets :  "  Eh  bien,  les  Fran^ais  n'aurnnt  done  ja- 
mais de  RoDt.  lis  n'ont  pas  cte  charmes  de  Mirame  !  "  Aniaiid 
says  pithily,  •■  On  ne  poiivoit  alors  avoir  d'autre  satisfaction  des  of- 
fenses d'lin  honmie  qui  etoit  maitre  de  tout,  ct  redoutable  i  tout  lo 
inonde."  Nevertheless  liis  style  in  prose,  though  not  devoid  of  the 
pedantic  alTectations  of  the  time,  often  rises  into  very  noble  elo- 
quence 

t  "  Vialart  remarque  une  chose  qui  peut  expliquer  la  condnite 
de  Richelieu  en  d'autres  circoustances  :  —  c'est  que  les  seigneurs 
i  qui  leur  naissance  ou  leiir  mcrite  pouvoit  permettre  des  |)reteii- 
si(uis,  il  avoit  pour  systemo,  do  leur  accorder  au-del.V  nieme  de 
leiirs  droits  et  de  leurs  esperances,  mais,  aussi,  une  fois  combles 
—  si,  an  lieu  de  reconnoitre  ses  services  ils  se  levoient  coutre  lui, 
et  ils  trartoit  sans  misericorde." dnqnit'd.  See  also  the  Politi- 
cal Testament,  and  the  Memoires  de  Cardinal  Richelieu,  in  Peti- 
tot's  collectioii. 


OR,    THE   CONSPIUACY.  137 

JOSEPH. 

Failing  these  ? 
EICHELIJX'  {fcrcely). 
All  means  to  crush  :  as  with  the  opening  and 
The  clenching  of  this  little  hand,  I  will 
Crush  the  small  venom  of  these  stinging  courtiers. 
So,  so,  we  've  baffled  Baradas. 

JOSEPH. 

And  when 
Check  the  conspiracy  ? 

RICHELIEU. 

Check,  check  ?     Full  way  to  it. 
Let  it  bud,  ripen,  flaunt  i'  the  day,  and  burst 
To  fruit,  —  the  Dead  Sea's  fruit  of  ashes  ;  ashes 
Which  I  will  scatter  to  the  winds. 

Go,  Joseph  ; 
AVhen  you  return  I  have  a  feast  for  you  ; 
The  last  great  act  of  my  great  play  :  the  verses, 
Methinks,  are  fine,  —  ah,  very  fine.  —  You  write 
Verses  !  *  —  (adde)  such  verses  !  —  You   have  wit, 
discernment. 


*  "  Tantot  fanatiqiie  —  tantot  foiirbo  —  fonder  les  religieuses  do 
Calvairc — fairc  des  vers."  Tlius  speaks  Voltaire  of  Fatiier  Jo- 
seph. His  talents  and  influence  with  Richelieu,  grossly  exag- 
gerated in  his  own  day,  are  now  rightly  estimated. 

>' C'etoit  en  effet  un  lioinine  infatigable  —  portant  dans  les  en- 
treprises,  I'activite,  la  souplesse,  I'opiniatrete  proj)re  u  les  fairo 

reiissir." inqnel'd.     He  wrote  a  Latin  poem,  called  "  La  Tur- 

ciade,"  in  which  he  sought  to  excite  the  kingdoms  of  Cliristendoni 
against  the  Turks.  But  the  inspiration  of  Tyrta;us  was  denied  to 
Father  Joseph, 


138  KICHELIEU: 

jdsKi'ii  {aside.) 
Worse  than  the  scourge !     Strange  that  so  great  a 

statesman 
Should  be  so  bad  a  poet. 

KICHELIEU. 

What  dost  thou  say  ? 

JOSEPH. 

That  it  is  strange  so  great  a  statesman  should 
Be  so  sublime  a  poet. 

EICHELIEU. 

Ah,  you  rogue ; 
Laws  die,  Books  never.     Of  my  ministry 
I  am  not  Aain  !  but  of  my  muse,  I  own  it. 
Come,  you  shall  hear  the  verses  now. 

[  Takes  xqi  a  MS. 

JOSEPH. 

]\Iy  Lord, 
The  deeds,  the  notaries  ! 

EICHELIEU. 

True,  I  pity  you ; 
But  business  first,  then  pleasure. 

[Exit  Joseph. 
KICHELIEU  (seats  himself  and  readme/). 

Ah,  sublime  ! 
Enter  De  ]\Iauprat  and  Julie. 

DE    MAUPUAT. 

Oh,  speak,  my  Lord  —  I  dare  not  think  you  mock 

me. 
And  yet 

RICHELIEU. 

Hush —  hush  —  This  line  must  be  considered ! 


OU,    THE   CONSPIRACY.  139 

JULIE. 

Are  we  not  both  your  children  ? 

KICllKLIKU. 

What  a  couplet ! 

How  now  !     Oh  !  Su-  —  you  Hve  ! 

DIS   MAUFEAT. 

AVhy,  no,  methinks, 
Elysium  is  not  life  ! 

JULIE. 

He  smiles  !  —  you  smile, 
]My  father  !     From  my  heart  for  ever  now 
I  '11  blot  the  name  of  orphan  ! 

ItlCHELIEU. 

E-ise,  my  children, 
For  ye  are  mine  —  mine  both  ;  —  and  in  your  sweet 
And  young  delight  —  your    love  —  (life's  first-born 

glory) 
My  own  lost  youth  breathes  musical ! 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

I  '11  seek 
Temple  and  priest  henceforward  ;  —  Avere  it  but 
To  learn  Heaven's  choicest  blessings. 

KICHELIEU. 

Thou  shalt  seek 
Temple  and  pi-iest  right  soon  ;  the  morrow's  sun 
Shall  see  thee  across  these  barren  thresholds  pass 
The  fairest  bride  in  Paris.  —  Go,  my  children  ; 

Even  I  loved  once  ! Be  lovers  Avhile  ye  may  ! 

How  is  it  with  you,  Sir  ?     You  bear  It  bravelj' : 
You  know,  it  asks  the  courage  of  a  lion. 

\^Exeunt  .Julie  and  De  Mauprat. 


140  KICHELIEU  : 

RICHELIEU. 

Oh !     godlike    Power  !      "Woe,    Rapture,     Penury, 

Wealth,— 
Marriage  and  Death,  for  one  infirm  old  man 
Through  a  great  empire  to  dispense  —  withhold  — 
As   the   will   whispers  I       And    shall   things  —  like 

motes 
That  live  in  my  daylight  —  lackeys  of  court  wages. 
Dwarfed  starvelings  —  manikins,  upon  whose  shoul- 
ders 
The  burden  of  a  province  were  a  load 
More  heavy  than  the  globe  on  Atlas,  —  cast 
Lots   for  my  robes  and  sceptre  ?     France  !    I  love 

thee ! 
All  Earth  shall  never  pluck  thee  from  iny  heart! 
My    mistress    France  —  my   wedded   wife,  —  sweet 

France, 
Who  shall  proclaim  divorce  for  thee  and  me  ! 

[£xit   ElCHELIEU. 


OR,   THE    CONSPIRACY.  141 

ACT    11. 
SECOXD   DAY. 

Scene  I. — A  splendid  apartment  in  Mauprat's  neio  House. 
Casements  opening  to  the  Gardens,  beyond  icliick  the  domes 
of  the  Luxembourg  Palace. 

Enter  Baeadas. 

BAKADAS. 

Mauprat's  new  lionie  :  —  too  splendid  for  a  soldier  ! 

But  o'er  his  floors  —  the  while  I  stalk  —  methinks 

My  shadow  spreads  gigantic  to  the  gloom 

The  old  rude  towers  of  the  Bastile  cast  far 

Along  the  smoothness  of  the  jocund  day.  — 

Well,  thou  hast  'scaped  the  fierce  caprice  of  Biche- 

lieu ; 
But  art  thou  farther  from  the  headsman,  fool  ? 
Thy  secret  I  have  whispered  to  the  King;  — 
Thy    marriage    makes   the   King   thy   foe.  —  Thou 

stand'st 
On  the  abyss  —  and  in  the  pool  below 
I  see  a  ghastly,  headless  phantom  mirrored ;  — 
Thy  likeness  ere  the  marriage  moon  hath  waned. 
Meanwhile  —  meanwhile  —  ha  —  ha,  if  thou  art  wed~ 

ded, 
Thou  art  not  wived. 

Enter  Mauprat  {splendidly  dressed). 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Was  ever  fate  like  mine  ? 
So  blest,  and  yet  so  wretched  ! 


142  RICHELIEU: 

BAliADAS. 

Joy,  De  INIauprat !  — 
Why,  wliat  a  brow,  man,  for  your  Avedding  da}' ! 

DE   .■MAUPHAT. 

Jest  not !  —  Distraction  ! 

BARADAS. 

AVhat,  A'our  wife  a  shrew 
Ah'eady  ?     Courage,  man  —  the  common  lot ! 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Oh  !  that  she  were  less  lovely,  or  less  loved  ! 

BARADAS. 

Riddles  again  ! 

DE   SrAUPRAT. 

You  know  what  chanced  between 
The  Cardinal  and  myself. 

BARADAS. 

This  morning  broiiglit 
Your  letter :  —  faith,  a  strange  account !     1  laughed 
And  wept  at  once  for  gladness. 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

We  were  wed 
At   noon  ;  —  the    rite   performed,   came    hither ;  ■ — ■ 

scarce 
Arrived,  when 

BARADAS. 

Well?  — 

DE   JIAUPRAT. 

Wide  flew  the  doors,  and  lo, 
Messire  de  Beringhen,  and  this  epistle  ! 

BARADAS. 

'T  is  the  KinGf's  hand  !  —  the  royal  seal ! 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  143 

DE   JIAUPRAT. 

Read  —  read  — 
BARADAS  {readhif/). 

"  Whereas  Adrien  de  Mauprat,  Colonel  and  Chev- 
alier in  our  armies,  being  already  guilty  of  High 
Treason,  by  the  seizure  of  our  town  of  Faviaux,  has 
presumed,  without  our  knowledge,  consent,  or  sanc- 
tion, to  connect  himself  by  marriage  with  Julie  de 
IMortemar,  a  wealthy  orphan  attached  to  the  person 
of  Her  Majest)',  without  our  knowledge  or  consent  — 
^Ye  do  hereby  proclaim  and  declare  the  said  marriage 
contrary  to  law.  On  penalty  of  death,  Adrien  de 
Miuprat  will  not  communicate  with  the  said  Julie  de 
Mortemar  by  word  or  letter,  save  in  the  presence  of 
our  faithful  servant  the  Sieur  de  Beringhen,  and  then 
with  such  respect  and  decorum  as  are  due  to  a  Demoi- 
selle attached  to  the  Court  of  France,  until  such  time 
as  it  may  suit  our  i-o}"al  pleasure  to  confer  witli  the 
Holy  Church  on  the  formal  annulment  of  the  mar- 
riage, and  with  our  Council  on  the  punishment  to  be 
awarded  to  Messire  de  Mauprat,  who  is  cautioned  for 
his  own  sake  to  preserve  silence  as  to  our  injunction, 
more  especially  to  Mademoiselle  de  Llortcmar. 

"  Given  under  our  hand  and  seal  at  the  Louvre. 

"  Louis." 
BARADAS  {relurnlng  the  letter). 
Amazement !  —  Did  not  llichelieu  say,  the  King 
Knew  not  your  crime  ? 

DK    JIAUrKAT. 

He  said  so. 

BARADAS. 

Poor  De  Mauprat !  — 


144  KICHELIKU: 

See  you  the  snare,  the  vengeance  worse  than  death, 
Of  which  you  are  the  victim  ? 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Ha! 

BAR  ADAS  (aside).. 

It  works ! 
[Julie  aiid  De  Berixghen   in  the  Gardens. 
You  have  not  sought  the  Cardinal  yet  to 

DE   MAUPEAT. 

No! 

Scarce  yet  my  sense  awakened  from  the  shock ; 
Now  I  will  seek  him. 

BAliADAS. 

Hold,  beware  !  —  Stir  not 
Till  we  confer  again. 

DE  MAUPRAT. 

Speak  out,  man  !  — 

BARADAS. 

Hush ! 
Your  wife  !  —  De  Beringhen  !  —  Be  on  your  guard  — 
Obey  the  royal  orders  to  the  letter. 
I'll  look  around  your  palace.     By  my  troth 
A  princely  mansion  ! 

DE  MAUPRAT. 

Stay 

BARADAS. 

So  new  a  bridegroom 
Can  want  no  visitors  ;  — Your  servant,  IMadani ! 
Oh  !  happy  pair  —  Oh  !  charming  picture  ! 

[JlxU  tliroiigh  a  side-door. 


OR,   TUE    CONSPIRACY.  145 

JULIE. 

Adrien, 

You  left  us  suddenly  —  Are  you  not  well  ? 

DE    MAUPHAT. 

Oh,  very  well  —  that  is  —  extremely  ill ! 

JULIE. 

El,  Adrien  ?  [  Taling  his  hand. 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Not  when  I  see  thee. 
[He  is  about  to  lift  her  hand  to  his  lijis  when  De  Bekinghen 
courjhs  andjndls  his  viantle.     JIaupkat  droj)s  the  hand 
and  walks  away. 

JULIE. 

Alas! 
Should  he  not  love  me  ? 

DE    BERINGHEN  (aside). 

Have  a  care  ;  I  must 
Report  each  word  —  each  gesture  to  his  INIajesty. 

DE    MAUPRAT. 

Sir,  if  you  were  not  in  his  Majesty's  service, 
You  'd  be  the  most  officious,  impudent, 
Damned  busy-body  ever  interfering 
In  a  man's  family  affairs. 

DE   BERINGHEN. 

But  as 
I  do  belong,  Sir,  to  his  JNIajesty  — 

DE   MAUPr.AT. 

You  're  lucky  ! —  Still,  were  we  a  story  higher, 
'T  were  prudent  not  to  go  too  near  the  window. 

JULIE. 

Adrien,  what  have  I  done  ?     Say,  am  I  changed 
10 


146  RICHELIEU  : 

Since  yesterday  ?  —  or  was  it  but  for  wealth, 
Ambition,  life  —  that  —  that  —  you  swore  you  loved 
me? 

DE   MAUPEAT. 

I  shall  go  mad  !  —  I  do,  indeed  I  do  — 

BE  BEKiXGiiEX  {aside). 
Not  love  her !  that  were  highly  disrespectful. 

JULIE. 

You  do  —  what,  Adrien  ? 

DE    JMAUPRAT. 

Oh  !  I  do,  indeed 

I  do  think,  that  this  weather  is  delightful  ! 
A  charming  day  !  the  sky  is  so  serene  ! 
And  Avhat  a  prospect!  —  (to  De  Beuinghen)  —  Oh! 
you  Popinjay  ! 

JULIE. 

He  jests  at  me  !  —  he  mocks  me  !  —  yet  I  love  him, 
And  every  look  becomes  the  lips  we  love ! 
Perhaps  I  am  too  grave  ?  —  You  laugh  at  Julie  ; 
If  laughter  please  you,  welcome  be  the  music  ! 
Only  say,  Adrien,  that  you  love  me. 

DE  siAUPKAT  {Icissiitfj  her  hand). 

Ay; 

With  my  whole  heart  I  love  you  ! 

Now,  Sir,  go, 
And  tell  that  to  his  INIajesty  !  —  "Who  ever 
Heard  of  its  being  a  state  offence  to  kiss 
The  hand  of  one's  own  wife  V 

JULIE. 

He  says  he  lo^■es  me, 
And  starts  away,  as  if  to  say  "  I  love  you  " 


OU,    THK   CONSPIRACY.  147 

]\Ieant  somethino;  very  dreadful.  —  Come,  sit  by  me, — 
I  place  your  chair!  —  fic  on  your  gallantry  ! 

[They  sit  doivn;  as  Ite  pushes  his  chair  bach,  she  draws 
hers  nearer. 

Why  must  this  strange  Messire  de  Beringhen 
Be  always  here  ?     He  never  takes  a  hint. 
Do  you  not  wish  him  gone  ? 

DE    IMAUPHAT. 

Upon  my  soul 
I  do,  my  Julie  !  —  Send  him  for  your  bouquet, 
Your  glove,  your  —  anything. 

JULIE. 

Messire  de  Beringhen, 
I  dropped  my  glove  in  the  gardens  by  the  fountain. 
Or  the  alcove,  or  —  stay  —  no,  by  the  statue 
Of  Cupid  ;  may  I  ask  you  to 

DE    BEIilXGIIEN. 

To  send  for  it  ? 
Certainly  (rinrjing  a  hell  on  the  table).    Andre,  Pierre, 

(your  rascals,  how 
Do  ye  call  them  ?) 

Enter  Servants. 
Ah  —  Madame  has  dropped  her  glove 
In  the  gardens,  by  the  fountain,  —  or  the  alcove ; 
Or  —  stay  —  no,  by  the  statue  —  eh  ?  —  of  Cupid. 
Bring  It. 

DE   JIAUI'RAT. 

Did  ever  now  one  pair  of  shoulders 
Carry  such  wagon-loads  of  impudence 
Into  a  gentleman's  drawing-room  ? 

Dear  Julie, 


148  RICHELIEU  : 

I  'm  busy  —  letters  —  visitors  —  the  devil ! 

I  do  beseech  you  leave  nie  —  I  say  —  leave  me. 

JULIE  {weeinng). 
You  are  unkind. 

[Exit. 

[As  she  goes  out,  Maupeat  chops  on  one  knee  and  kisses 
the  hem  of  her  mantle,  unseen  by  her. 

DE    BEIUNGIIEN. 

Ten  million  of  apologies 

DE   MAUPHAT. 

I  '11  not  take  one  of  them.     I  have,  as  yet, 
Withstood   all    things  —  my  heart  —  my  love  —  my 

rights. 
But  Julie's  tears  ! When  Is  this  farce  to  end? 

DE   BEP.INGIIEN. 

Oh  !   when  you  please.     His  IMajesty  requests  me, 
As  soon  as  you  Infringe  his  gracious  orders. 
To  introduce  you  to  the  Governor 
Of  the  Bastlle.     1  should  have  had  that  honor 
Before,  but,  'gad,  my  foible  is  good-nature ; 
One  can't  be  hard  upon  a  friend's  infirmities. 

DE   MAUPP.AT. 

I  know  the  King  can  send  me  to  the  scaffold  — 
Dark  prospect !  —  but  I  'm  used  to  it ;  and  If 
The  Church  and  Council,  by  this  hour  to-morrow, 
One  way  or  other  settle  not  the  matter, 
I  will  ^— 

DE   r.ETUNGHEN. 

What,  my  dear  Sir? 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  149 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Show  you  the  door, 
My  dear,  dear  Sir ;  talk  as  I  please,  with  whom 
I  please,  in  my  own  house,  dear  Sir,  mitil 
His  Majesty  shall  condescend  to  find 
A  stouter  gentleman  than  you,  dear  Sir, 
To  take  me  out ;  and  now  you  understand  me. 
My  dear,  most  dear  —  Oh,  damnably  dear  Sir  ! 

DE    BEKINGHEN. 

What,  almost  in  a  passion  !  j'ou  will  cool 

Upon  reflection.     Well,  since  Madame  's  absent, 

I'll  take  a  small  refreshment.     Now,  don't  stir ; 

Be  careful ;  —  how  's  }our  burgundj'  ?  —  I  '11  taste  it ; 

Finish  it  all  before  I  leave  you.     Nay, 

No  form ;  —  you  see  I  make  myself  at  home. 

[Exit  De  Berixghen. 
DE  MAUPKAT  (rjolng  to  (he  door    ihrcmr/h  which  Baeadas 
had  2>assed). 

Baradas  !     Count ! 

Enter  Baradas. 
You  spoke  of  snares  —  of  vengeance 
Sharper  than  death  —  be  plainer. 

EARADAS. 


Richelieu  has  but  two  passions  — 

DE   BIAUPKAT. 


What  so  clear  ? 

Richelieu ! 

Yes! 


Ambition  and  revenge  —  in  you  both  blended. 
Fii-st  for  Ambition  —  Julie  is  his  ward, 


150  RICHELIEU: 

Innocent  —  docile  —  pliant  to  his  -will  — 

He  placed  her  at  the  court  —  foresaw  the  rest  — 

The  King  loves  Julie  ! 

PE   MAUrrAT. 

Merciful  Heaven  !     The  King ! 

BARADAS. 

Such  Cupids  lend  new  plumes  to  Richelieu's  wings  : 
But  the  court  etiquette  must  give  such  Cupids 
The  veil  of  Hymen  —  (Hymen  but  in  name). 
He    looked    abroad  —  Ibund    }ou    his    foe  :  —  thus 

served 
Ambition  —  by  the  grandeur  of  his  ward, 
And  vengeance  —  by  dishonor  to  his  foe  ! 

DE   SIAUrRAT. 

Prove  this. 

BARADAS. 

You  have  the  proof —  the  royal  Letter :  — 
Your  strange  exemption  from  the  general  pardon, 
Known  but  to  me  and  Richelieu  ;  can  you  doubt 
Your  friend  to  acquit  your  foe  ?     The  truth  is  glar- 
ing— ■ 
Richelieu  alone  could  tell  the  princely  Lover 
The  tale  which  sells  your  life,  —  or  buys  your  honor ! 

DE    JIAUPRAT. 

I  see  it  all  !  —  jNIock  pardon  —  hurried  nuptials  — 
False  bounty  !  —  all !  —  the  serpent  of  that  smile  ! 
Oh  !  it  stings  home  ! 

BARADAS. 

You  j'ct  shall  crush  his  malice; 
Our  plans  are  sure  :  —  Orleans  is  at  our  head  ; 
We  meet  to-night ;  join  us,  and  Avith  us  triumph. 


Oli,    THE    CONSl'lKACY.  151 

DE   JIAIIPKAT. 

To-night  ?  —  Oh  Heaven  !  —  my  marriage  night !  — 
Revenge ! 

BARADAS. 

[What  chxss  of  men,  whose  white  lips  do  not  curse 

The  grim,  insatiate,  universal  tyrant  ? 

We,  noble-born  —  where  are  our  antique  rights  — 

Our  feudal  seigniories  —  our  castled  strength, 

That  did  divide  us  from  the  base  Plebeians, 

And  made  our  swords  our  law  —  where  are  they  ?  — 

trod 
To  dust  —  and  o'er  the  graves  of  our  dead  power 
Scaffolds  are  monuments  —  the  Kingly  House 
Shorn  of  its  beams  —  the  Royal  Sun  of  France 
'Clijjsed  by  this  blood-red  comet.    AVhere  we  turn, 
Nothing  but  Richelieu  !  —  Armies  —  Church  —  State 

—  Laws, 
But  mirrors  that  do  multiply  his  beams. 
He  sees  all  —  acts  all  —  Argus  and  Briarseus  — 
Spy  at  our  boards  —  and  deathsman  at  our  hearths, 
Under  the  venom  of  one  laidly  nightshade, 
Wither  the  lilies  of  all  France. 

DE  MAUi'RAT  {hnpatiently). 

But  Julie  — 
BARADAS  {unlieedivy  him). 
As  yet  the  Fiend  that  serves  hath  saved  his  power 
From  every  snare  ;  and  in  the  epitaphs 
Of  many  victims  dwells  a  warning  moral 
That  preaches  caution.     Were  I  not  assured 
That  what  before  was  hope  is  ripened  now 
Into  most  certain  safety,  trust  me,  Mauprat, 


152  lUCHELIEU: 

I  still  could  hush  my  hate  and  mark  thy  wrongs, 
And   say,   "  Be   patient !  "  —  JVow,   the   King   him- 
self 
Smiles  kindly  when  I  tell  him  that  his  peers 
Will  rid  hira  of  his  Priest.     You  knit  your  brows, 
jSToble  impatience  !  — Pciss  we  to  our  scheme  !  ] 
'T  is  Richelieu's  wont,  each  morn,  within  his  chapel, 
(Hypocrite  Avorship  ended,)  to  dispense 
Alms  to  the  INIendicant  friars,  —  in  that  guise 
A  band  (yourself  the  leader)  shall  surround 
And  seize  the  despot. 

DE    3IAUPKAT. 

But  the  King  ?  —  but  Julie  ? 

BARADAS. 

The  King,  infirm  in  health,  in  mind  more  feeble. 

Is  but  the  plaything  of  a  Minister's  will. 

Were  Richelieu  dead  —  his  power  were  mine ;  and 

Louis 
Soon  should  forget  his  passion  and  your  crime. 
But  whither  now  ? 

DE   SIAUPRAT. 

I  know  not :  I  scarce  hear  thee ; 
A  little  while  for  thought :  anon  I  '11  join  thee ; 
But  now,  all  air  seems  tainted,  and  I  loathe 
The  face  of  man  ! 

{Exit  De  JIauprat  through  the  Gardens. 

BARADAS. 

Start  from  the  chase,  my  prey, 
But  as  thou  speed'st,  the  hell-hounds  of  Revenge 
Pant  in  thy  track  and  dog  thee  down. 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  153 

Enter  De  Beringhen,  his  mouth  full,  a  napkin  in  his  hand. 

DE    BEKINCillEN. 

Chevalier, 
Your  cook  's  a  miracle,  —  what,  my  Host  gone  ? 
Faith,  Count,  my  office  is  a  post  of  danger  — 
A  fiery  fellow,  Mauprat !  touch  and  go,  — 
]\Iatch  and  saltjietre,  —  pr — r — r — r — ! 

BAltADAS. 

You 
Will  be  released  erelong.     The  King  resolves 
To  call  the  bride  to  court  this  da}-. 

DE    BEUINGHEN. 

Poor  Mauprat ! 
Yet,  since  you  love  the  lady,  why  so  careless 
Of  the  King's  suit  ? 

BARADAS. 

Because  the  lady  's  virtuous, 
And  the  King  timid.     Ere  he  Avin  the  suit 
He  '11  lose  the  crown,  —  the  bride  Avill  be  a  widow, — 
And  I  —  the  Richelieu  of  the  Regent  Orleans. 

BE   BERINGHEN. 

Is  Louis  still  so  chafed  against  the  Fox 

For  snatching  yon  fair  dainty  from  the  Lion  ? 

BARADAS. 

So  chafed,  that  Richelieu  totters.     Yes,  the  King 
Is  half  conspirator  against  the  Cardinal. 
Enough  of  this.     I  've  found  the  man  we  wanted, — 
The  man  to  head  the  hands  that  murder  Richelieu, — 
The  man,  whose  name  the  synonyme  for  daring. 

DE    HEHIXGTIEN. 

He  must  mean  me  !  —  No,  Count,  I  am  —  I  own, 
A  valiant  dog  —  but  still  — 


154  RICHELIEU : 

BARADAS. 

T^^lom  can  I  mean 
B.ut  IManprat  ?  —  ]\Iark,  to-niglat  we  meet  at  jMarion's, 
There  shall  we  si^iu  :  thence  send  this  scroll  {showing 

it)  to  Bouillon. 
You  're  in  that  secret  (ciffL'ctionatehj~)  —  one  of  our 

new  Council. 

DE   BERIXGHEN. 

But  to  admit  the  Spaniard  —  France's  foe  — 
Into  the  heart  of  France,  —  dethrone  the  King,  — 
It  looks  like  treason,  and  I  smell  the  headsman. 

haeapas. 
Oh,  Sir,  too  late  to  falter:  when  we  meet 
We  must  arrange  the  separate  —  coarser  scheme, 
For  Richelieu's  death.     Of  this  despatch  De  Mauprat 
Must  nothing  learn.     lie  only  bites  at  vengeance, 
And  he  would  start  from  treason.  —  ^Ve  must  post 

him 
"Without  the  door  at  INIarion's  —  as  a  sentry. 
{Aside.')  —  So,  when  his  head  is  on  the  block  —  his 

tongue 
Cannot  betray  our  more  august  designs  ! 

UE   BERIXGHEN. 

I  '11  meet  you  if  the  Iving  can  spare  me.  —  {Aside.) 

Nol 
I  am  too  old  a  goose  to  play  with  foxes, 
I  '11  roost  at  home.     jMeanwhile,  in  the  next  room 
There 's  a  delicious  jiate,  —  let 's  discuss  it. 

1!  A  RAD  AS. 

Pshaw !  a  man  filled  with  a  sublime  ambition 
Has  no  time  to  discuss  your  pates. 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  155 

DE    BEIUNGIIEN. 

Pshaw ! 

And  a  man  filled  with  as  sublime  a  \K\ie 
Has  no  time  to  discuss  ambition.  — 'Gad, 
I  have  the  best  of  it ! 

Enter  Julie  liastlhj,  loith  first  Courtier. 
JULIE  (to  Courtier). 

A  summons.  Sir, 
To  attend  the  Louvre  ?  —  On  tJiis  daj^,  too  ? 

COURTIER. 

Madame, 
The  roj-al   carriage  waits  below.  —  Messire,   (to  De 

Beuinghex,) 
You  Avill  return  with  us. 

JULIE. 

^Vhat  can  this  mean  ?  — 
AVhere  is  my  husband  ? 

BARADAS. 

He  has  left  the  house, 
Perhaps  till  nightfall — •  so  he  bade  me  tell  you. 
Alas,  were  I  the  lord  of  such  fair  treasure  — 

JULIE  [impatiently). 
Till  nightfall  ?  —  Strange  —  my  lieart  misgives  me  ! 

COURTIER. 

Madame, 
My  orders  will  not  brook  delay. 

JULIE  (to  Baradas). 

You  '11  see  him  — 
And  you  will  tell  him  ! 

BARADAS. 

From  the  flowers  of  Ilybla 


156;  KICHELIEU  : 

Never  more  gladly  did  the  bee  bear  honey, 
Than  I  take  sweetness  from  those  rosiest  lips, 
Though  to  the  hive  of  others ! 

COURTIEK  {to  De   BeKINGHEX.) 

Come,  Messlre. 
DE  nEUiNGHEN  (Jiesituting). 
One  moment,  just  to  — 

COUltTIER. 

Come,  Sir. 

DE   BEKIXGIIEN. 

I  shall  not 
Discuss  the  pate  after  all.     'Eeod, 
I  'm  puzzled  now.    I  don't  know  who 's  the  best  of  it ! 
[Exeunt  Julie,  De  Beiunghen,  and  Courtier. 

BAltADAS. 

Now  will  this  fire  his  fever  into  madness  ! 
All  is  made  clear :  Mauprat  must  murder  Richelieu  — 
Die  for  that  crime  :  —  I  shall  console  his  Julie  — 
This  will  reach  Bouillon  !  —  from  the  wrecks  of  France 
I  shall  carve  out  —  who  knows  —  perchance  a  throne  ! 
All  in  despite  of  my  Lord  Cardinal.  — 

Enter  De  MAUPRATyro»i  the  Gardens. 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Speak  !  can  it  be  ?  —  Methought  that  from  the  terrace 
I  saw  the  carriage  of  the  King  —  and  Julie! 
No  !  —  no  !  —  my  frenzy  peoples  the  void  air 
With  its  own  phantoms  ! 

BARADAS. 

Nay,  too  true.  —  Alas ! 
Was  ever  lightning  swifter,  or  more  blasting, 
Than  Richelieu's  forked  guile  ? 


OR,    THE    COXSPIUACY.  15T 

DE    JIAUPr.AT. 

I  '11  to  the  Louvre ^• 

BAKADAS. 

And  lose  all  hope  !  —  The  Louvre  !  —  the  sure  gate 
To  the  Bastlle ! 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

The  King 

BARADAS. 

Is  but  the  wax, 
"Which  Richelieu  stamps !     Break  the  malignant  seal, 
And  I  will  raze  the  print.     Come,  man,  take  heart ! 
Iler  virtue  well  could  brave  a  sterner  trial 
Than  a  few  hours  of  cold,  imperious  courtship. 
AVere  Richelieu  dust  —  no  danger ! 

DE    JIAUPKAT. 

Ghastly  Vengeance ! 
To  thee,  and  thine  august  and  solemn  sister, 
Tlie  unrelenting  Death,  I  dedicate 
The  blood  of  Armand  Richelieu  !     AVhen  Dishonor 
Reaches  our  hearths.  Law  dies,  and  Murder  takes 
The  angel  shape  of  Justice  ! 

BAP.ADAS. 

Bravely  said ! 
At  midnight,  —  Marlon's !  —  Nay,  I  cannot  leave  thee 
To  thoughts  that 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Speak  not  to  me  !  —  I  am  yours  !  — 
But  speak  not!     There  's  a  voice  within  my  soul, 
AVhose  cry  could  drown  the  thunder.  —  Oh  !  if  men 
Will  play  dark  sorcery  with  the  heart  of  man. 
Let  they  who  raise  the  spell  beware  the  Fiend ! 

[Exezmt. 


158  RICHELIEU : 

SCENE  II. 

A  Room  in  the  Palais  Cardinal  {as  in  the  First  Act). 

EiCHELiEU  and  Joseph. 

Francois  ivriting  at  a  table. 
josErii. 
Yes ;  —  Iluguet,  taking  his  accustomed  round,  — 
Disguised    as    some    plain    burgher,  —  heard    these 

rufflers 
Quoting    your    name  :  —  he    listened,  —  "  Pshaw  !  " 

said  one, 
"  We  are  to  seize  the  Cardinal  in  his  palace 
To-morrow  !"  —  "  How?"  the  other  asked.  — "You'll 

hear 
The  whole  design  to-night ;  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
And  Baradas  have  got  the  map  of  action 
At  their  fingers'  end."- — •"  So  be  it,"  quoth  the  other, 
"  I  will  be  there  —  Marion   de    Lornie's  —  at   mid- 
night ! " 

RICHELIEU. 

I  have  them,  man,  —  I  have  them ! 

■JOSEPH. 

So  they  say 
Of  you,  my  Lord;  —  believe  me,  that  their  plans 
Are  mightier  than  you  deem.  You  must  employ 
Means  no  less  vast  to  meet  them ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Bah !  in  policy 
We  foil  gigantic  danger,  not  by  giants, 


OR,    THE    COiNsriRACY.  159 

But  dwarfs. The  statues  of  our  stately  fortune 

Are  scul2)tured  by  tbe  chisel  —  not  the  axe  !  * 
Ah  !  were  I  younger  —  by  the  knightly  lieart 
That  beats  beneath  these  jjriestly  robes,f  I  would 
Have  pastime  with  these  cut-throats  !  —  Yea,  as  when, 
Lured  to  the  ambush  of  the  expecting  foe,  — 
I  clove  my  pathway  through  the  plumed  sea  ! 
Reach  me  yon  falchion,  Francois,  —  not  that  bawble 
For  carpet-warriors,  —  yonder  —  such  a  blade 
As  old  Charles  JMartel  might  have  wielded  when 
Ho  drove  the  Saracen  from  France. 

[Francois  brings  1dm  one  of  the  lonr/  two-liaiuled  swords 
worn  in  the  middle  ages. 

*  Richelieu  not  only  employed  the  lowest,  hut  would  often 
consult  men  commonly  esteemed  the  dullest.  "II  disuit  que 
dens  des  clioses  de  tres  grande  importance,  il  avail  experimente, 
quo  les  moins  sages  donnoient  souvent  les  meilleurs  expediens." 
—  Lc  Clcrc. 

f  Both  Richelieu  and  .Joseph  were  originally  intended  for  the 
profession  of  arms.  Joseph  had  served  before  he  obeyed  the 
spiritual  inspiration  to  become  a  Capuchin.  The  death  of  his 
brother  opened  to  Richelieu  the  bishopric  of  Lu^,on  ;  but  his 
military  propensities  were  as  strong  as  his  priestly  ambition.  I 
need  scarcely  add  that  the  Cardinal,  during  his  brilliant  campaign 
in  Italy,  marclied  at  the  head  of  his  troops  in  conii)lete  armor.  It 
was  under  his  administration  tliat  occurs  the  last  example  of  pro- 
claiming war  by  the  chivalric  defiance  of  herald  and  cartel. 
Richelieu  valued  himself  much  on  his  personal  activity,  —  for  his 
vanity  was  as  universal  as  his  ambition.  A  nolileinan  of  the 
JiDUse  of  Grammont  one  day  foimd  him  employed  in  jumpuiiT,  and, 
witli  all  tlie  savulr  vinre  of  a  Frenchman  and  a  courtier,  offered  to 
jiiiup  against  him.  lie  suffered  the  ('ardiu^l  to  jump  hislicr,  and 
soon  after  found  himself  rewarded  by  an  appointment.  Yet, 
strMigely  enough,  this  vanity  did  not  lead  to  a  patronage  injurious 
to  the  state;  for  never  before  in  Franco  was  ability  made  so  es- 
w,ntial  a  requisite  in  prouKJtion.  lie  was  lucky  in  finding  the 
cleverest  fellow  among  iiis  adroitest  flatterers. 


160  KICHELIKU: 

With  this 
I,  at  Rochelle,  did  hand  to  hand  engage 
The  stalwart  Englisher,  —  no  mongrels,  boy, 
Those   island   mastiffs,  —  mark   the  notch  —  a  deep 

one  — 
His  casque  made  here,  —  I  shore  him  to  the  Avaist  ! 
A  toy  —  a  feather  —  then  ! 

[  Tries  to  -wield,  and  lets  it  fall. 
You  see,  a  child  could 
Slay  Richelieu,  now. 

FKAN90IS  (Ms  hand  on  Jtis  hilt). 

But  non\  at  your  command 
Are  other  weapons,  my  good  Lord. 

niCHELiEU  {who  has  seated  himself  as  to  write,  lifts  the 
pen). 

True,  —  This  ! 
Beneath  the  rule  of  men  entirely  great 
The  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.     Behold 
The  arch-enchanter's  wand  !  —  itself  a  nothing  !  — 
But  taking  sorcery  from  the  master-hand 
To  paralyze  the  Cassars  —  and  to  strike 
The  loud  earth  breathless !  —  Take  away  the  sword  — 
States  can  be  saved  without  it !      [LooUnrj  on  the  docTc. 

'T  is  the  hour,  — 
Eetire,  Sir.  [Exit  FKAxrois. 

[A  hnoch  is  heard.     A  door  concealed  in  the  arras  ojjens 
cautiousltj.     Enter  Makion  de  Lokme. 

JOSEPH  {amazed). 
Marion  de  Lorme ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Hist !  —  Joseph, 


OU,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  161 

Keep  guard.         [Joseph  retires  to  the  principal  entrance. 
]My  fiiithful  IMarion  ! 
BiAiaox. 

Good,  mj'  Lord, 
They  meet  to-nifjlit  in  my  poor  house.     The  Duke 
Ot"  Orleans  heads  them. 

KICHKLIEU. 

Yes  —  go  on. 

MAEION. 

His  Highness 
]Much  questioned  if  I  knew  some  brave,  discreet, 
And  vigilant  man,  whose  tongue  could  keep  a  secret, 
And  who  had  those  twin  qualities  for  service, 
The  love  of  gold,  the  hate  of  Richelieu.  — 

lUCHELIEU. 

You  ?  — 

MAEION. 

Made    answer,  "  Yes  —  my    brother  ;  —  bold    and 

trusty ; 
Whose  faith,  my  faith  could  j)ledge  ; "  —  the  Duke 

then  bade  me 
Have   him  equipped  and  armed  —  well  mounted  — 

ready 
This  night  to  part  for  Italy. 

KICIIELIEU. 

Aha  !  — 
Has  Bouillon  too  turned  traitor  ?  —  So  methought ! — ■ 
"What  part  of  Italy  V 

MAiaON. 

The  Piedmont  frontier. 
Where  Bouillon  lies  encamped. 
11 


162  RICHELIEU  : 

KICIIEI.IEU. 

Now  there  is  danirer  ! 
Great  clanger  !  — If  he  tamper  witli  the  Spaniard, 
And  Louis  list  not  to  my  counsel,  as. 
Without  sure  proof,  he  will  not,  —  France  is  lost. 
AMiat  more  ? 

MAKION. 

Dark  hints  of  some  design  to  seize 
Your  person  in  your  palace.     Nothing  clear  — 
His  Highness  ti'cmbled  while  he  spoke — the  words 
Did  choke  each  other. 

RICHELIEU. 

So !  —  AVho  is  the  brother 
You  recommended  to  the  Duke  ? 


5IAl:iON. 

Your  Eminence  may  father !  — 

EICHELIEU. 


Whoever 


DarlinfT  iMarion !  * 


*  Voltaire  openly  charges  Richelieu  with  being  tlie  lover  of 
Marion  de  Lornie ;  and  the  great  ])oct  of  France,  Victor  Hugo, 
has  sacrificed  History  to  adorn  her  with  qualities  which  were 
certainly  not  added  to  lier  personal  charms.  She  was  not  less 
perfidious  tlian  beautiful.  Le  Clorc,  properly,  refutes  the  accusa- 
tion of  Voltaire  against  the  discretion  of  Richelieu,  and  says,  very 
justly,  that,  if  the  great  minister  had  the  frailties  of  human  nature, 
lie  learnt  how  to  veil  them,  —  at  least  when  lie  obtained  tlie  scar- 
let. In  earlier  life  lie  had  been  prone  to  gallantries  which  a  little 
prepossessed  the  King  (who  was  formal  and  decorous,  and  threw 
a  singular  coldness  into  the  few  attachments  he  permitted  to  liiin- 
scIQ  against  the  aspiring  intriguer.  But  these  gayer  occupations 
died  away  in  the  engagement  of  higher  pursuits  or  of  darker  pas- 
sions. 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  1G3 

[Goes  to  tlie  table,  am?,  returns  icilh  a  Inrf/e  hag  of  gold. 
Tliere  — •  psiuiw  —  a  trifle  !  — Wliat  an  eye  you  have  ! 
And    what  a  smile  —  child! — (Jdsses    her^  —  Ah! 

you  fair  perdition  — 
'T  is  well  I  'ni  old  ! 

MAiaoN  ( aside  and  serioushj). 

AVhat  a  gi'cat  man  he  is  ! 

KICHKLIEU. 

You  are  sure  they  meet  ?  —  the  hour  ? 

JIAIUON. 

At  midnight. 

lUCIIELIEU. 

And 

You  will  engage  to  give  the  Duke's  despatch 
To- whom  I  send  ? 

JIAIUON. 

A)',  marry ! 

incuKLiEU  {aside). 

Iluguet  ?     No ; 
lie  will  he  wanted  elsewhere.  —  Joseph  2  —  zealous, 
But  too  well  known  —  too  much  the  elder  brother  ! 
Mauprat  —  alas  !    it  is  liis  wedding  day  !  — 
FranCj'ois  ?  —  the  ]Man  of  jMen  !  —  imnoted  —  J'oung ; 
Ambitious  —  {[/oes  to  the  door^  —  Franc^^ois  ! 
Enter  Fuan(;ois. 

laCIIKLIEU. 

Follow  this  fair  lady  ; 
(Find  him  the  suiting  garments,  ]\Iarion,)  take 
My  fleetest  steed  :  —  arm  thyself  to  the  teeth  ; 
A  packet  will  be  given  you  —  with  orders. 


1G4  RICHELIEU: 

Ko  matter  what  I  —  The  instant  tliat  your  hand 
Closes  upon  it  —  chitch  it,  like  your  honor, 
AVhieh  Deatli  alone  can  steal,  or  ravish  —  set 
Spurs  to  your  steed  —  be  breathless,  till  you  stand 
Ajiaiu  before  me. —  Stay,  Sir  !  —  You  -will  find  me 
Two  short  leagues  hence  —  at  Ruelle,  in  my  castle. 
Young  man,  be  blithe  !  —  for  —  note  me  —  from  the 

hour 
I  grasp  that  packet  —  think  your  guardian  Star 
Kains  fortune  on  you  !  — 

FEAX901S. 

If  I  fail  — 

KICIIELIEi:. 

Fail  —  fail  ? 
In  the  lexicon  of  youth,  ■which  Fate  reserves 
For  a  bright  manhood,  there  is  no  such  word 
As  — fail  ! —  (You  will  Instruct  him  further,  jNIarion.) 
Follow  her —  but  at  distance  ;  —  speak  not  to  her, 
Till  you  are  housed.  —  Farewell,  boy  !     ^ever  say 
"  Fad  "  again. 

FRANCOIS. 

I  will  not ! 
EICHELIEU  {patiintj  his  locks). 
I  There  's  my  young  hero  !  — 

[Exettnt  FKAX901S,  JIakiox. 

KICHELIEU. 

So,  they  would  seize  my  person  in  this  palace  V  — 
I  cannot  guess  their  scheme  ;  —  but  my  retiiuie 
Is  here  too  large  I  —  a  single  traitor  could 
Strike  impotent  the  faith  of  thousands  ;  —  Joseph, 


OR,    THE    CONSPIllACY.  1G5 

Art  sure  of  Iluguet  ?  —  Think  —  avc  hanged  his  Fa- 
ther ! 

josErn. 

But  you  have  bought  the   Son ;  —  heaped  favors  on 
him  ! 

r.ICHELIEU. 

Trash  !  —  flivors    past  —  that 's    nothing.  —  In     his 

hours 
Of  confidence  with  you,  has  he  named  the  favors 
To  come,  —  he  counts  on  ? 

JOSEPH. 

Yes  :  —  a  Colonel's  rank, 
And  Letters  of  Nobility. 

KICHELIEU. 

What,  Huguet !  — 

[7/ere  Huguet  enters,  as  to  address  the  Cardinal,  ivhd 
dues  not  jjerceive  him. 

HUGUET. 

]\Iy  own  name,  soft  —  {r/lUles  ieJiind  (lie  screen^. 

lUCIIELIEU. 

Colonel  and  Xobleman ! 
]\Iy  bashful  Iluguot  —  that  can  never  be  !  — 
AVe  have  him  not  the  less  —  we  '11  promise  h  ! 
And  see  the  King  Avithholds  !  —  Ah,  kings  are  oft 
A  great  convenience  to  a  minister ! 
No  wrong  to  Huguet  either  ;  —  Moralists 
Say,  Hope  is  sweeter  than  Possession  !  —  Yes !  — 
We  '11  count  on  Huguet !     Favors  paxl  do  gorge 
Our  dogs  ;  leave  service  drowsy  —  dull  the  scent, 
Slacken  the  speed  ; —  favors  to  come,  my  Joseph, 


166  RICHELIEU: 

Produce  a  lusty,  hunnjiy  gratitude, 

A  ravenous  zeal,  that  of  the  commonest  cur 

Would  make   a   Cerberus.  —  You   are    right  ;    this 

treason 
Assumes  a  fearful  aspect :  —  but  once  crushed. 
Its  very  ashes  shall  manure  the  soil 
Of  power;  and  ripen  such  full  sheaves  of  greatness, 
That  all  the  summer  of  my  fate  shall  seem 
Fruitless  beside  the  autumn  ! 

[HuGUET  holds  up  his  hand  menacinrihj,  and  creeps  out. 

JOSEPH. 

The  saints  grant  it ! 
EinrELiEU  {solemnhj). 
Yes  —  for  sweet  France,  Heaven  grant  it  !  —  O  my 

country. 
For  thee  —  thee  only  —  though  men  deem  it  not  — 
Are  toil  and  terror  my  familiars  !  — :  I 
Have  made  thee  great  and  fair  —  upon  thy  brows 
Wi-eathed  the  old  Roman  laurel :  —  at  thy  feet 
Bowed  nations  down.  —  No  pulse  in  my  ambition 
^^^hose  beatings  were  not  measured  from  thy  heart ! 
[In  the  old  times  before  us,  patriots  lived 
And  died  for  liberty  — 

josEPn. 

As  you  would  live 
And  die  for  despotry  — 

IIICHELTKU. 

False  monk,  not  so, 
But  for  the  purple  and  the  power  wherein 
State  clothes  herself.  —  I  love  my  native  land 
Not  as  Venetian,  Englisher,  or  Swiss, 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  167 

But  as  a  Noble  and  a  Priest  of  France ; 
"  All  things  for  France  "  —  lo,  my  eternal  maxim ! 
The  vital  axle  of  the  restless  wheels 
That  bear  me  on  !     With  her  I  have  entwined 
My  passions  and  my  fate  — my  crimes,  my  virtues — ■ 
Hated  and  loved,*  and   schemed,   and  shed  men's 
blood. 


*  Richelieu  did  in  fact  so  thorouglily  associate  liimsclf  with  the 
State,  that,  in  cases  where  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  had 
been  incurred,  Le  Clerc  justly  observes  tliat  he  was  more  inex- 
orable to  those  he  had  favored  —  even  to  his  own  connections  — 
tlian  to  other  and  more  indifTerent  otTenders.  It  nuist  be  remem- 
bered, as  some  excuse  for  his  unrelenting  sternness,  tliat  before 
his  time  the  great  had  been  accustomed  to  commit  any  disorder 
with  impunity,  even  the  crime  of  treason  ;  —  "  auparavant  on  ne 
faisoit  poser  les  armes  aux  rebellcs  qu'en  leur  accordant  quclque 
recompense."  On  entering  into  the  administration,  lie  therefore 
laid  it  down  as  a  maxim  necessary  to  the  existence  of  the  State, 
that  "  no  crime  should  be  committed  with  impunity."  To  carry 
out  this  maxim,  the  long-established  license  to  crime  made  even 
justice  seem  cruel.  But  the  victims  most  commiserated,  from 
their  birth  or  accomplishments,  as  Montmorenci,  or  Cinq  Mars, 
were  traitors  in  actual  conspiracy  against  tlieir  country,  and 
would  have  forfeited  life  in  any  land  where  tlio  punishment  of 
death  existed,  and  the  lawgiver  was  strong  enough  to  vindicate 
the  law.  Richelieu  was  in  fact  a  patriot  unsoftened  by  philan- 
thropy. As  in  Venice,  (where  the  favorite  aphorism  was  —  "  Ven- 
ice tirst,  Christianity  next,"  f)  so,  with  Richelieu,  the  primary 
consideration  was,  •'  What  will  be  best  for  the  country  ?  "  He 
liad  no  abstract  principle,  whetlier  as  a  politician  or  a  priest, 
when  applied  to  the  world  that  lay  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
France.  Thus  he,  whose  object  was  to  found  in  France  a  splen- 
did and  imperious  despotism,  assisted  the  Parliamentary  party  in 
England,  and  signe<l  a  treaty  of  alliance  and  subsidies  with  tho 
Catalan  rebels  for  t)ie  eslablishment  of  a  republic  in  Barcelona : 

f '  Pria  Veneziaiui,  poi  Christiane." 


168  RiciiEi.iKU: 

As  the  calm  crafts  of  Tuscan  Sages  teach 

Those  who  would  make  their  country  great.    Beyond 

The  map  of  France  —  my  heart  can  travel  not, 

But  fills  that  limit  to  its  farthest  verge  ; 

And  while  I  live  —  Richelieu  and  France  are  one.] 

We  Priests,  to  Avhom  the  Church  forbids  in  }outh 

The  plighted  one  —  to  manhood's  toil  denies 

The  soother  helpmate  —  from  our  withered  age 

Shuts  the  sweet  blossoms  of  the  second  spring 

That  smiles  in  the  name  of  Father  —  we  are  yet 

Not  holier  than  Humanity,  and  must 

Fulfil  Humanity's  condition  —  Love  ! 

Debarred  the  Actual,  Ave  but  breathe  a  life 

To  the  chill  Marble  of  the  Ideal  —  Thus, 

In  thy  unseen  and  abstract  JMajesty, 

My  France  —  my  Country,  I  have  bodied  forth 

to  convulse  other  monarchies  was  to  consolidate  the  prowiiig 
monarchy  of  France.  So  lie,  wlio  completely  cruslicd  the  Prot- 
estant party  at  home,  braved  all  the  wrath  of  the  Vatican,  and 
even  the  resentment  of  the  King,  in  giving  the  most  essential  aid 
to  the  Protestants  abroad.  There  was,  indeed,  a  largeness  of 
view  in  his  hostility  to  the  French  Huguenots,  which  must  be 
carefully  distinguished  from  the  intolerance  of  the  mere  priest. 
He  opposed  them,  not  as  a  Catholic,  but  as  a  statesman.  The 
Huguenots  were  strong  republicans,  and  had  formed  plans  for 
dividing  France  into  provincial  commonwealtli.s  ;  and  the  exist- 
ence of  Rochello  was  absolutely  incompatible  with  the  integrity 
of  the  French  monarchy.  It  was  a  second  capital,  held  by  the 
Huguenots,  claiming  independent  authority  and  the  right  to  treat 
with  foreign  powers.  Rlclielicii's  final  conquest  was  marked  by 
a  humanity  that  had  nothing  of  the  bigot.  The  llugueuots  ob- 
tained a  complete  amnesty,  and  had  only  to  regret  the  loss  of 
privileges  and  fortifications  which  could  not  have  existed  with 
any  security  to  the  rest  of  France. 


OK,   THK   CONSPIRACY.  169 

A  thing  to  love.     What  are  these  robes  of  state, 
This  jiomp,  this  pahiee  ?  perishable  bawbles  ! 
In  this  world,  two  things  only  are  immortal  — 
Fame  and  a  People  ! 

Enter  Huguet. 

HUGUKT. 

My  Lord  Cardinal, 
Your  Eminence  bade  me  seek  you  at  this  hour. 

r.ICHKLIKU. 

Did  I  ?  —  True,  Iluguet.  —  So  —  you  overheard 
Strange  talk  amongst  these  gallants?     Snares  and 

traps 
For  Richelieu  ?  —  AVcU  —  we  '11  balk  them  ;  let  me 

think  — 
The  men-at-arms  you  head  —  how  many  ? 

HUGUET. 

Twentj',* 
My  Lord. 

KICHELIKU. 

All  trusty  ? 

HUGUET. 

Yes,  for  ordinary 
Occasions  — if  for  great  ones,  I  would  change 
Three  fourths  at  least. 

RICHELIEU. 

Ay,  what  are  great  occasions  ? 


*  Tho  guard  attached  to  Richelieu's  person  was,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, fifty  ar(|iiel)iisicrs,  afterwards  increased  to  two  companies 
ot  cavalry  and  two  Inindrcd  musketeers.  IIiiRuet  is  tlic^reforo 
tube  considered  merely  as  the  lieutenant  of  a  small  detacliiiient 
of  this  little  army.  In  \ion\t  of  fact,  the  subdivisions  of  the  guard 
took  it  in  turns  to  serve. 


1  70  IJICHELIEU  : 

IIUGUET. 

Great  bribes ! 

r.ICIIELIEU    {to   JOSEPH). 

Good  lack,  he  knows  some  paragons 
Superior  to  great  bribes  ! 

lirCUET. 

True  Gentlemen 
Who  have  transgressed  the  laws  —  and  value  life 
And  lack  not  gold  ;  your  Eminence  alone 
Can  grant  them  pardon.     Enjo,  you  can  trust  them ! 

r.ICHELIEU. 

Logic  ! —  So  be  it  —  let  this  Jioncst  twenty 

Be  armed  and  mounted  —  (^Axide.)   So  they  meet  at 

midnight, 
The  attempt  on  me  to-morrow —  Ho  !  we  'II  strike 
'Twixt   wind  and   water. —  (^Aloud.)  Does  it  need 

much  time 
To  find  these  ornaments  to  Human  Mature  ? 

1U"GUET. 

j\Iy  Lord  —  the  trustiest  of  them  are  not  birds 
That  love  the  dayliglit.  —  I  do  know  a  haunt 
AVhere  they  meet  nightly  — 

lilCHELIKU. 

Ere  the  dawn  be  gray, 
All  could  be  armed,  assembled,  and  at  lluelle 
In  my  old  hall  ? 

IIUGUET. 

By  one  lioiu*  after  midnight. 

lUGnKEIEU. 

The  castle 's  strong.     You  know  its  outlets,  Huguet? 
"Would  twenty  men,  well  posted,  keep  such  guard 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  171 

That  not  one  step — (and  oMurder's  step  is  stealthy)  — 
Could  glide  within  —  unseen  ? 


A  triple  wall  — 
A  drawbridge  and  portculhs  —  twenty  men 
Under  my  lead,  a  month  might  hold  that  castle 
Against  a  host. 

mCUELIEU. 

They  do  not  strike  till  morning, 
Yet  I  will  shift  the  quarter  —  Bid  the  grooms 
Prepare  the  litter  —  I  will  lience  to  Ruelle 
While  daylight  last  —  and  one  hour  after  midnight 
You  and  your  twenty  saints  shall  seek  me  thither ! 
You  're   made   to  rise  !  —  You  are,    Sir  ;  —  eyes  of 

lynx, 
Ears  of  the  stag,  a  footflill  like  the  snow ; 
You  are  a  valiant  fellow ;  — yea,  a  trusty. 
Religious,  exemplary,  incorrupt. 
And  precious  jewel  of  a  fellow,  Iluguet ! 

If  I  live  long  enough,  — ay,  mark  my  words 

If  I  live  long  enough,  you  '11  be  a  Colonel  — 
!Noble,  perhaps  !  —  One  hour,  Sir,  after  midnight. 

nUGUET. 

You  leave  me  dumb  with  gratitude,  my  Lord  ; 
I  'II  ])ick  the  trustiest  —  (aside.^  Marion's  house  can 
furnish  ! 

[Exit   HUGUET. 
lUCHEUKlT. 

How  like  a  spider  shall  I  sit  in  my  hole, 
And  watch  the  meshes  tremble. 


172  RICHELIEU: 

JOSEPH. 

But,  my  Lord, 
"Were  it  not  wiser  still  to  man  the  palace, 
And  seize  the  traitors  in  the  act  ? 

RICHELIEU. 

No ;  Louis, 
Long  chafed  against  me  —  Julie  stolen  from  him. 
Will  rouse   him   more.  —  lie  '11  say   1   hatched  the 

treason, 
Or  scout  my  charge  :  —  He  half  desires  my  death  ; 
But  the  despatch  to  Bouillon,  some  dark  scheme 
Against  his  crown  —  there  is  our  weapon,  Joseph  ! 
With  that,  all  safe  —  without  it,  all  is  peril ! 
JNIeanwhile  to  my  old  castle ;  you  to  court, 
Diving  with  careless  eyes  into  men's  hearts. 
As  ghostly  churchmen  should  do  !     See  the  King, 
Bid  him  peruse  that  sage  and  holy  treatise. 
Wherein  't  is  set  forth  how  a  Premier  should 
Be  chosen  from  the  Pi'iesthood  —  how  the  King 
Should  never  listen  to  a  single  charge 
Against  his  servant,  nor  conceal  one  whisper 
That  the  rank  envies  of  a  court  distil 
Into  his  ear  —  to  fester  the  fair  name 
Of  my  —  I  mean  his  Minister  !  —  Oh  !  Joseph, 
A  most  convincing  treatise.* 

*  This  tract,  on  tlio  "  Unity  of  tlio  Minister,"  contains  all  the 
doctrines,  and  many  nioro  to  tlio  same  effect,  referred  to  in  tlio 
text,  and  had  a  prodigious  influence  on  the  conscience  of  the  poor 
King.  At  the  onset  of  his  career,  Richelieu,  as  deinity  of  the 
cle'-gy  of  Poitou,  complained  in  his  harangue  to  the  King,  that 
ecclesiastics  were  too  rarely  summoned  to  the  royal  councils,  au<l 
invoked  the  example  of  the  Druids  ! 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  173 

Good  —  all  favors, 
If  Francois  be  but  bold,  and  Ilugiict  honest.  — 
Huguet  —  I  half  sns23ect  —  lie  bowed  too  low  — 
'T  is  not  his  way. 

JOSKPH. 

This  is  the  curse,  my  Lord, 
Of  your  high  state  ;  —  suspicion  of  all  men. 

KICHKLIKU    (sndll/).  , 

True  ;  —  true ;  —  my  leeches  bribed  to  poisoners  ;  — 

pages 
To  strangle  me  in  sleep.  —  ]\Iy  very  King 
(This    brain   the    unresting   loom    from    which    was 

wo\en 
The  purple  of  his  greatness)  leagued  against  me. 
Old  —  childless  —  friendless  —  broken  —  all  forsake  ; 
All  — all  — but  — 

JOSEPH. 

What  ? 

P.ICHELIEU. 

The  indomitable  heart 
Of  Armand  Richelieu  ! 

JOSEPH. 

Naught  beside  ? 

EICHELIEU. 

"Why,  Julie, 
]\Iy  own  dear  foster-child,  forgive  me  ;  —  jes ; 
This  morning,  shining  through  their  happy  teai's. 
Thy    soft    eyes    blessed  me  !  —  and    thy  Lord,  —  in 

danger, 
He  would  foi'sakc  me  not. 

JOSEPH. 

And  Joseph 


174  RICHELIEU: 

r.iciiELiKU  (riflti-  a  pause). 

You 

Yes,  I  believe  you  —  yes  —  for  all  men  fear  you  — 
And  the  world  loves  j'ou  not.  —  And  I,  friend  Jo- 
seph, 
I  am  the  only  man  who  could,  m}-  Joseph, 
Make  you  a  Bishop.*  —  Come,  we  '11  go  to  dinner, 
And  talk  the  while  of  methods  to  advance 
Our    Mother    Church,  f  —  Ah,     Joseph,  —  Bkhnp 
Joseph  ! 


*Josepli's  anil)ition  was  not,  however  so  moderate  ;  lie  refused 
a  bishopric,  and  desired  the  cardinal's  liat,  for  wliich  favor 
Riclielieu  openly  sujjplicated  tlie  Holy  See,  but  contrived  soine- 
liow  or  other  never  to  effect  it,  altliough  two  ambassadors  ap- 
plied for  it  at  Rome. 

f  The  peculiar  religion  of  Pore  Joseph  may  bo  illustrated  by 
the  following  anecdote.  An  officer,  whom  he  had  dismissed 
upon  an  expedition  into  Germany,  moved  by  conscience  at  the 
orders  he  had  received,  returned  for  further  explanations,  and 
found  the  Capuchin  dUant  sa  messe.  He  approached  and  whis- 
l)errd,  "But,  my  father,  if  these  people  defend  themselves — " 
"Kill  all,"  (Qu^ontu  tout,)  answered  the  good  father,  continu- 
ing his  devotions. 


OK,   THE    COXSriHACY.  175 

ACT  III. 

SKCOND    DAY  (miDNIGHT). 

ScENK  I.  —  JXicuK-LiKu's  Gislle  at  Riielle.     A  Gothic  Clianv- 
bar.     Mooiilif/ht  at  the  window,  occcisionally  obscured. 

iticiiELiEU  (reodiriff).* 
"  In  silence,  and  at  night,  the  Conscience  feels 
That  life  should  soar  to  nobler  ends  than  Power." 
So  sayest  thou,  sage  and  sober  moralist ! 
But  wert  thou  tried  ?  —  Sublime  Philosophy, 
Tlion  art  the  Patriarch's  ladder,  reaching  heaven. 
And  bright  with  beck'ning  angels  —  but,  alas! 
We  see  thee,  like  the  Patriarch,  but  in  dreams. 
By  the  first  step  —  dull-slumbering  on  the  earth. 
I  am  not  happy  ! —  with  the  Titan's'  lust 
I  wooed  a  goddess,  and  I  clasp  a  cloud. 
When  I  am  dust,  my  name  shall,  like  a  star. 
Shine  through  wan  space,  a  glory  —  and  a  prophet 


*  I  need  not  say  that  the  great  length  of  tliis  soliloquy  adapts  it 
only  for  the  closet,  and  that  hut  few  of  the  lines  are  retained  on 
tlio  stage.  To  the  reader,  however,  the  passages  omitted  in 
reiirescntation  will  not,  perhaps,  be  the  most  uninteresting  in  llio 
play,  and  may  be  deemed  necessary  to  the  completion  of  the  Car- 
dinal's portrait,  —  action  on  the  stage  supplying  so  subtly  the  place 
of  words  lu  the  closet.  The  self-assured  sophistries  which,  in  the 
text,  mingle  with  Richelieu's  better-founded  arguments,  in  ajKilogy 
for  the  darker  traits  of  his  character,  are  to  lie  found  scattered 
throughout  the  writings  ascrd)cd  to  him.  Tlio  reader  will  ob- 
serve that  in  this  self-confession  lies  the  latent  poetical  justice, 
which  separates  happiness  from  success. 


176  RICHELIEU: 

Whereby  pale  seers  shall  from  their  aery  towers 

Con  all  the  ominous  signs,  benign  or  evil, 

That  make  the  potent  astrologue  of  kings. 

But  shall  the  Future  judge  me  by  the  ends 

That  I  have  wrought  —  or  by  the  dubious  means 

Through  which  the  stream  of  my  renown  hath  run 

Into  the  many-voiced  unfathomed  Time? 

Foul  in  its  bed  lie  weeds,  and  heaps  of  slime, 

And  with  its  waves,  when  sparkling  in  the  sun, 

Ofttimes  the  secret  rivulets  that  swell 

Its  might  of  waters  blend  the  hues  of  blood. 

Yet  are  my  sins  not  those  of  circumstance, 

That  all-pervading  atmosphere,  Avherein 

Our  spirits,  like  the  unsteady  lizard,  take 

The  tints  that  color,  and  the  food  that  nurtures  ? 

*  Oh !  ye,  whose  hour-glass  shifts  its  tran(pul  sands 

In  the  unvexed  silence  of  a  student's  cell;  — 

Ye,  whose  untempted  hearts  have  never  tossed 

Upon  the  dark  and  stormy  tides  where  life 

Gives  battle  to  the  elements,  — and  man 

AVrestles  with   man   for   some   slight   plank,  avIiosg 

weight 
Will  bear  but  one  —  while  round  the  desperate  wretch 
The  Imngry  billows  roar  —  and  the  fierce  Fate, 
Like  some  huge  monster,  dim-seen  through  the  surf, 
Waits  him  who  drops ;  —  ye  safe  and  formal  men, 
AVho  write  the  deeds,  and  with  unfeverish  hand 
Weigh  in  nice  scales  the  motives  of  the  Great, 
Ye  cannot  know  what  ye  have  never  tried ! 

*  Retained  in  representation. 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  177 

History  preserves  only  the  flesliless  bones 
Of. "what  we  are  —  and  b}'  the  mocking  skull 
The  would-be  wise  pretend  to  guess  the  features ! 
Without  the  roundness  and  the  glow  of  life 
How  hideous  is  the  skeleton  !     ^Vithout 
The  colorings  and  humanities  that  clothe 
Our  errors,  the  anatomists  of  schools 
Can  make  our  memory  hideous  ! 

I  have  wrought 
Great  uses  out  of  evil  tools  —  and  tliey 
In  the  time  to  come  may  bask  beneath  the  light 
Which  1  have  stolen  from  the  angry  gods, 
And  warn  their  sons  against  the  glorious  theft, 
Forgetful  of  the  darkness  which  it  broke. 
1  have  shed  blood,  but  I  have  had  no  foes 
Save  those  the  State  had ;  *  if  my  wrath  was  deadly, 
'T  is  that  I  felt  my  country  in  my  veins, 
And  smote  her  sons  as  Brutus  smote  his  own.  f 
And  yet  I  am  not  happy — blanched  and  seai-ed 
Before  my  time  —  breathing  an  air  of  hate. 
And  seeing  daggers  in  .the  eyes  of  men, 
And  wasting  powers  that  shake  the  thrones  of  earth 
In  contest  with  the  insects  —  bearding  kings 
And  braved  by  lackeys  ij: —  murder  at  my  bed ; 

*  It  IS  well  known  tliat  when,  on  liis  death-bed,  Richelieu  was 
asked  if  lie  forgave  Ins  enemies;  ho  replied,  "  I  never  had  any, 
but  those  of  the  State."  And  this  was  true  enough,  for  Uichclieu 
and  tlie  State  were  one. 

\  Iliclielieu's  vindication  o(  Iiiniself  from  cruelty  will  bo  found 
in  various  parts  of  Pctitot's  Collection,  vols.  x.xi.  xxx.  (bit). 

t  Voltaire  has  a  striking  passage  on  the  singular  fate  of  Riche- 
lieu, recalled  every  liour  from  Ins  gigantic  sciieines  to  frustrate 
13 


1(8  RICHELIEU: 

And  lone  amidst  the  multitudinous  web, 

With  the  dread  Three  —  that  are  the  Fates  who  luold 

The    woof  and    shears  ^ — the    ]\lonk,    the    Spy,    the 

Headsman. 
And  this  is  Power  ?     Alas  !  I  am  not  happy. 

{AJ'ler  apcmse. 
And  yet  the  Nile  is  fretted  by  the  weeds 
Its  rising  roots  not  up  ;  but  never  yet 
Did  one  least  barrier  by  a  ripple  vex 
My  onward  tide,  unswept  in  sport  away. 
Am  I  so  ruthless  then,  that  I  do  hate 
Them  who  do  hate  me  V     Tush,  tush  !  I  do  not  hate  ; 
Nay,  I  forgive.     The  Statesman  writes  the  doom, 
But  the  Priest  sends  the  blessing.     I  forgive  them, 
But  I  destroy ;  forgiveness  is  mine  own, 
Destruetion  is  the  State's  !     For  private  life, 
Scripture  the  guide- — ^for  public,  Machiavel. 
Would  Fortune  serve  me  if  the  Heaven  were  wroth  ? 


some  miserable  cabal  of  the  anteroom.  Richelieu  would  ofteu 
exclaim,  that  "  Six  pieds  de  terre,"  as  he  called  the  king's  cabinet, 
"  lui  donnaient  plus  de  peine  que  tout  Ic  re.<te  de  I'Europe." 
The  death  of  VVallenstein,  sacrillced  by  the  Emperor  Ferdinand, 
I)roduced  a  most  lively  impression  upon  Riclielieu.  He  found 
many  traits  of  comparison  between  Ferdinand  and  Louis  —  Wal- 
lenstein  and  himself.  In  the  Memoirs  —  now  regarded  by  tl:o 
best  authorities  as  written  by  his  sanction,  and  in  great  part  by 
himself  —  the  great  Frenchman  bursts  (when  alluding  to  Wallen-- 
stein's  murder)  into  a  touching  and  patlietic  anathema  on  tlio 
mi-iere  de  cctte  vie  of  dependence  on  jealous  and  timid  royalty, 
which  lie  himself,  while  he  wrote,  sustained.  It  is  worthy  of  re- 
mark, that  It  was  precisely  at  the  period  of  VVallenstein's  death 
that  Richelieu  obtained  from  the  king  an  augmentation  of  his 
guard. 


OH,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  179 

For  chance  makes  half  my  greatness.     I  was  born 

Beneath  the  aspect  of  a  bright-eyed  star, 

And  my  triumphant  adamant  of  soul 

Is  but  the  fixed  persuasion  of  success. 

Ah  !  —  here  !  —  that    spasm  !  —  again  !  —  How    Life 

and  Death 
Do  wrestle  for  me  momently  !  —  And  yet 
The  King  looks  pale.     I  shall  outlive  the  King ! 
And  then,  thou  insolent  Austrian  —  who  didst  gibe 
At  tlie  ungainly,  gaunt,  and  daring  lover,* 
Sleeking  thy  looks  to  silken  Buckingham,  — 
Thou  shalt  —  no  matter  !  —  I  have  outlived  love. 
O  beautiful  —  all  golden  —  gentle  youth ! 
Making  thy  palace  in  the  careless  front 
And  hopeful  eye  of  man  —  ere  yet  the  soul 
II:ith  lost  the  memories  which  (so  Plato  dreamed) 
Breathed  glory  from  the  earlier  star  it  dwelt  in  — 
O  for  one  gale  from  thine  exulting  morning, 
Stirring  amidst  the  roses,  where  of  old 
Love  shook  the  dew-drops  from  his  glancing  hair ! 
Could  I  recall  the  past  —  or  had  not  set 
Tiie  prodigal  treasures  of  the  bankrupt  soul 
In  one  slight  bark  upon  the  shoreless  sea ; 
The  yoked  steer,  after  his  day  of  toil, 
Forgets  the  goad,  and  rests  —  to  me  alike 


*  Richelieu  was  commonly  supposed,  tliougli  I  cannot  say  I 
find  much  evidence  for  it,  to  liavo  heen  too  lU'esuminj;  in  an  in- 
terview Willi  Anne  of  Austria  (the  ftueeii),  "nd  to  have  bitterly 
resented  the  contempt  she  expressed  for  him.  The  Uuko  of 
Buckingham's  frantic  and  Quixotic  passion  for  the  Queen  is  well 
known. 


180  RICHELIEU: 

Or  day  or  niaht  —  Ambition  has  no  rest! 
Shall  I  resign  ?  —  who  can  resign  himself? 
For  custom  is  ourself ;  as  drink  and  food 
Become  our  bone  and  flesh  —  the  aliments 
Nurturing    our   nobler   part,    the  mind  —  thoughts, 

dreams, 
Passions,  and  aims,  in  the  revolving  cycle 
Of  the  great  alchemy  —  at  length  are  made 
Our  mind  itself;  and  yet  the  sweets  of  leisure  — 
An  honored  home  —  far  from  these  base  intrigues  — 
An  eyrie  on  the  heaven-kissed  heights  of  wisdom  — 

[Takint/  irp  (he  booK 
Speak  to  me,  moralist !  —  I  '11  heed  thy  counsel. 
Were  it  not  best 

Enter  Fkax^ois  hastily,  and  in  part  disguised. 
KICHELIEU  {flinging  atoay  the  book) 

Philosophy,  thou  liest ! 
Quick  —  the   despatch !    Power  —  Empire  !  Boj'  — 
the  packet 

FKAS901S. 
Kill  me,  my  Lord. 

RICIIKLIELT. 

They  knew  thee  —  they  suspected  — ■ 
They  gave  it  not 

FRANCOIS. 

He  gave  it  —  he  —  the  Count 
De  Baradas  —  with  his  own  hand  he  gave  it ! 

lUCHELIEU. 

Baradas !    Joy  !  out  with  it ! 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  181 


FRANCOIS. 

Listen, 
And  then  dismiss  me  to  the  headsman. 

RICHELIEU. 

Go  on. 


Ha! 


FUAN901S. 
They  led  me  to  a  chamber —  There 
Orleans  and  Baradas  —  and  some  half-scoi*e, 
Whom  I  know  not  —  were  met 

KICHELIEU. 

Not  more  ! 
FKAN901S. 

But  from 
The  adjoining  chamber  broke  the  din  of  voices. 
The  clattering  tread  of  armed  men ;  at  times 
A  shriller  cry,  that  yelled  out,  "■  Death  to  Richelieu!" 

ItlCHELlEU. 

Speak  not  of  me :  thy  counirij  is  in  danger  ! 
The  adjoining  room  —  So,  so  —  a  separate  treason  ! 
The  one  thy  ruin,  France  !  —  the  meaner  crfme, 
Left  to  their  tools,  my  murder  !  — 

FHAN^OIS. 

Baradas 
Questioned  me  close  —  demuri-cd  —  until,  at  last, 
O'erruled  by  Orleans,  —  gave  the  packet  —  told  me 
That  life  and  death  were  in  the  scroll  —  this  gold  — 

KICHELIEU. 

Gold  is  no  proof  — 

Fl'.ANOOIS. 

And  Orleans  promised  thousands, 


182  RICHELIEU  : 

VV  hen  Bouillon's  trumpets  in  the  streets  of  Paris 

Kann;  out  shrill  answer.  —  Hastening  from  the  house, 

My  footstep  in  the  stirrup,  Marion  stole 

Across  the  threshold,  whispering,  "  Lose  no  moment 

Ere  Richelieu  have  the  packet :  tell  him  too  — 

Murder  is  in  the  wings  of  Night,  and  Orleans 

Swears,  ere  the  dawn  the  Cardinal  shall  be  clay." 

She  said,  and  trembling  fled  within  ;  Avhen,  lo  ! 

A  hand  of  iron  griped  me ;  through  the  dark 

Gleamed  the  dim  shadow  of  an  armed  man : 

Ere  1  could  draw  —  the  prize  Avas  wrested  from  me. 

And  a  hoarse  voice  gasped  —  "  Spy,  I  spare  thee,  for 

This  steel  is  virgin  to  thy  Lord ! "  with  that 

lie  vanished.  —  Scared  and  trembling  for  thy  safety 

I  mounted,  fled,  and,  kneeling  at  thy  feet, 

Implore  thee  to  acquit  my  faith  —  but  not, 

Like  him,  to  spare  my  life.  — 

EICHELIEU. 

Who  spake  of  life  ? 
I  bade  thee  grasp  that  treasure  as  thine  honor  — 
A  jewel  worth  whole  hecatombs  of  lives ! 
Begone  !^- redeem  thine  honor  —  back  to  Marion — • 
Or  Baradas  —  or  Orleans  —  track  the  robber  — 
Regain  the  packet  —  or  crawl  on  to  Age  — 
Age  and  gray  hairs  like  mine  —  and  know,  thou  hast 

lost 
That  which  had  made  thee  great  and  saved  thy  coun- 
try. — 
See  me  not  till  thou  'st  bought  the  right  to  seek  me.  — 
Away  !  —  Nay,  cheer  thee,  thou  hast  not  failed  yet, — ' 
There  's  no  such  tvord  as  '■'■fail  !  " 


OR,   THE   COXSriRACY.  183 

Fl'.AXeOIS. 

Bless  you,  my  Lord, 

For  that  one  smile  !  —  I  '11  wear  it  on  my  lieart 

To  light  me  back  to  triumph.* 

[Exit. 

KICIIELIEU. 

The  poor  youth  ! 
An  elder  had  asked  life  !  —  I  love  the  young  ! 
For  as  great  men  live  not  in  their  own  time. 
But  the  next  i-aee, —  so  in  the  young,  my  soul 
]\Iakes  many  Ric-helieus.     lie  will  win  it  yet. 
Fran^'ois  !  —  He  's    gone.     My    murder  !     ]Marion's 

warning  ! 
This  bravo's  threat !     O  for  the  morrow's  dawn  ! 
I  '11  set  my  spies  to  work  —  I  '11  make  all  space 
(As  does  the  sun)  an  Universal  Eye  — 
Pluguet  shall  track  —  Joseph  confess  —  ha !  ha  !  — 
Strange,  while  I  laughed  I  shuddered  —  and    ev'n 

now 
Through  the  chill  air  the  beating  of  my  heart 
Sounds  like  a  death-watch  by  a  sick  man's  pillow ; 
If  Iluguet  could  deceive  me  —  hoofs  without  — 
The  gates  unclose  —  steps  near  and  nearer  ! 


*  TIio  fear  and  tlie  Iiatred  wliicli  Richeliei:  generally  inspired 
were  not  sliared  liy  liis  dependents  and  those  about  Ins  person, 
wlio  are  said  "  to  have  adored  liini."  —  •' tSes  doMiesti(|iie.s  lo  re- 
gardaient  conuno  le  ineillcnr  dcs  niaitres."  —  Le  Clekc.  (a 
fact,  altliongli  "  U  eloit  or/rueillcuj:  et  culdre,'^  —  lie  was,  '•  cii  vidme 
temps,  affable  et  pleln  de  douceur  dans  I'abord"  ;  and  ho  was 
11(1  less  generous  to  those  who  served,  than  severe  to  those  who 
opposed  him. 


184  RICHELIEU  : 

Enter  Julie. 

JULIE. 

Cardinal ! 
My  father  ! 

[Falls  at  his  feet. 

RICHELIEU. 

Julie  at  this  Iiour  !  —  and  tears  ! 
"What  ails  thee  V 

JULIE. 

I  am  safe  ;  I  am  with  thee  !  — 

r.ICIIELIEU. 

Safe  !  why  in  all  the  storms  of  this  Avild  world 
AVhat  wind  would  mar  the  violet  ? 

JULIE. 

That  man  — 
Why  did  I  love  him  ?  —  clinp;ing  to  a  breast 
That  knows  no  shelter  ? 

Listen  —  late  at  noon  — 
The  marriage-day  —  ev'n  then  no  more  a  lover  — 
He  left  me  coldly,  —  well,  —  I  sought  my  chamber 
To  weep  and  wonder  —  but  to  hope  and  dream. 
Sudden  a  mandate  from  the  King — to  attend 
Forthwith  his  pleasure  at  the  Louvre. 

EICHELIEU. 

Ha! 

You  did  obey  the  summons ;  and  the  King 
Reproached  your  hasty  nujitials. 

JULIE. 

Were  that  all ! 
He  frowned  and  chid ;  proclaimed  the  bond  unlaw- 
ful: 


OR,   THE   CONSPIKACY.  185 

Bade  me  not  quit  my  chamber  in  the  palace, 

And  there  at  night — alone  —  tliis  niglit  —  all  still  — 

He  sought  my  presence  —  dared  —  thou  read'st  the 

heart, 
Read  mine  !  —  I  cannot  speak  it ! 

ItlCMELIEU. 

He  a  king,  — 
You  —  woman  ;  well,  —  you  yielded  ! 

JULIE. 

Cardinal  — 
Dare  you  say  "  yielded  "  ?  —  Humbled  and  abashed. 
He  from  the  chamber  crept  —  this  mighty  Louis  ; 
Crept  like  a  baffled  felon  !  —  yielded"!     Ah  ! 
More  royalty  in  woman's  honest  heart 
Than  dwells  within  the  crowned  majesty 
And  sceptred  anger  of  a  hundred  kings  ! 
Yielded !  —  Heavens  I  • —  jielded  ! 

■      laCUELJEU. 

To  my  breast,  —  close  —  close  ! 
The  world  would  never  need  a  Richelieu,  if 
j\Ien  —  bearded,  mailed  men  —  the  Lords  of  Earth  — 
Resisted  flattery,  falsehood,  avarice,  pride, 
As  this  poor  child  with  the  dove's  innocent  scorn 
Her  sex's  tempters.  Vanity  and  Power  !  — 
He  left  )-ou  —  well ! 

JULIE. 

Then  came  a  sharper  trial  ! 
At  the  king's  suit,  the  Count  de  Baradas 
Sought  me  to  soothe,  to  fawn,  to  flatter,  while 
On  his  smooth  lip  insult  appeared  more  hateful 
For  the  false  mask  of  pity  :  letting  fall 


186  KICIIELIEU: 

Dark  hints  of  treachery,  with  a  world  of  sighs 

That  Heaven  had  granted  to  so  base  a  Lord 

The  heart  whose  coldest  friendship  were  to  him 

AVhat  Mexico  to  misers !     Stung  at  kist 

By  my  disdain,  the  dim  and  glimmering  sense 

Of  his  cloaked  words  broke  into  bolder  light. 

And  THEN  —  ah  !  then,  my  haughty  spirit  failed  me  ! 

Then  I  was  weak —  wept  —  oh  !  such  bitter  tears  ! 

For  (turn  thy  foce  aside  and  let  me  whisper 

The  horror  to  thine  car)  then  did  I  learn 

That  he  —  that  Adrien  —  that  my  husband  —  knew 

The  king's  polluting  suit,  and  deemed  it  honor  ! 

Then  all  the  terrible  and  loathsome  truth 

Glared  on  me ;  —  coldness  —  waywardness,  reserve  — 

Mystery  of  looks  —  words —  all  unravelled,  —  and 

I  saw  the  impostor,  where  I  had  loved  the  god  ! 

lUCHELIEU. 

I  think  thou  wrong'st  thy  husband — but  proceed. 

JULIE. 

Did  }-ou  say  "  wronged  "  him  ?  —  Cardinal,  my  father, 
Did  you  say  "  wronged  "  V     Prove  it,  and  life  shall 

grow 
One  prayer  for  thy  reward  and  his  forgiveness. 

KICHELIEU. 

Let  me  know  all. 

JULIE. 

To  the  despair  he  caused 
The  courtier  left  me  ;  but  amid  the  chaos 
Darted  one  guiding  ra}'  —  to  'scape  —  to  fl}'  — 
Reach  Adrien,  learn  the   worst — 'twas  then  near 
midni"ht : 


OU,    TUK    CONSrXKACV.  187 

Trembling  I  left  my  chamber  —  sought  the  queen  — 
Fell  at  her  feet  —  revealed  the  unholy  peril  — 
Implored  her  aid  to  flee  our  joint  disgrace. 
JMoved,  she  embraced  and  soothed  me  ;   nay,  pre- 
served ; 
Her  word  sufficed  to  unlock  the  palace-gates : 
I  hastened  home  —  but  home  was  desolate,  — 
No  Adrien  there  !     Fearing  the  worst,  I  fled 
To  thee,  directed  hither.     As  my  wheels 
Paused  at  thy  gates  —  the  clang  of  arms  behind  — 
The  ring  of  hoofs  — 

niCIIELIEU. 

'Twas  but  my  guards,  fair  trembler. 
(So  Iluguet  keeps  his  Avord,  my  omens  Avronged  him.) 

JULIE. 

O,  in  one  hour  what  years  of  anguish  crowd  ! 

KICHELIEU. 

Nay,  there  's  no  danger  now.     Thou  needest  rest. 
Come,    thou    shalt    lodge    beside    me.       Tush  !    be 

cheered. 
]\Iy  rosiest  Amazon  —  thou  wrong'st  thy  Theseus. 
All  will  be  well  —  yes,  yet  all  well. 

[Excuiil  ihrovf/h  a  side  door. 


188  RICHELIEU; 


SCENE   II. 


Enter  HuGviiT  —  De  JIatiprat,  in  complete  armor,  his  visor 
doivn.     The  moonlight  obscured  at  the  casement. 

HUGUET. 

Not  here  ! 

DE   BIAUPKAT. 

O,  I  will  find  liim,  fear  not.     Hence  and  guard 
The  galleries  where  the  menials  sleep  —  plant  sentries 
At  every  outlet  —  Chance  should  throw  no  shadow 
Between  the  vengeance  and  the  victim  !     Go  !  — 
Ere  yon  brief  vapor  that  obscures  the  moon, 
As  doth  our  deed  pale  conscience,  jiass  away, 
The  mighty  shall  be  ashes. 

HUGUET. 

Will  you  not 
A  second  arm  ? 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

To  slay  one  weak  old  man  ?  — 
Away  !     No  lesser  wrongs  than  mine  can  make 
This  murder  lawful.     Hence  ! 

HUGUET. 

A  short  farewell ! 

[Exit   HuGUET. 

Re-enter  Kichelieu  {not perceiving  De  Mauprat). 

RICHELIEU. 

How  heavy  is  the  air  ! —  the  vestal  lamp 
Of  the  sad  moon,  weary  with  vigil,  dies 
In  the  still  temple  of  the  solemn  heaven  ! 


OR,   THE    CONSPIRACY.  181/ 

The  very  darkness  lends  itself  to  fear  — 
To  treason  — 

DE  MAUruAT. 

And  to  death ! 

EICIIELIEU. 

My  omens  lied  not ! 
"WTiat  art  thou,  wretch  ? 

DE   JIArPRAT. 

Thy  doomsman  ! 

KICHELIEU. 

IIo,  my  guards ! 
ITuguet !  ]\Iontbrassil !  Vermont ! 

DE   BIAUPIiAT. 

Ay,  thy  spirits 
Forsake  thee,  "wizard  ;  thy  bold  men  of  mail 
Are  mij  confederates.     Stir  not !  but  one  step, 
And  know  the  next  —  thy  grave ! 

KICHELIEU. 

Thou  liest,  knave ! 
I  am  old,  infirm  — most  feeble  —  but  thou  liest ! 
Armand  de  Richelieu  dies  not  by  the  hand 
Of  man  —  the  stars  have  said  it*  —  and  the  voice 
Of  my  own  prophet  and  oracular  soul 
Confirms  the  shining  Sibyls  ! — Call  them  all, 
Thy  brother  butchers  !     Earth  has  no  such  fiend  — 
No  !  as  one  parricide  of  his  ftither-land. 
Who  dares  in  Richelieu  murder  France  ! 


*  III  cniiiniim  with  his  contemporaries,  Richelieu  was  credulous 
in  astrology  and  less  lawful  arts.  He  was  too  fortunate  a  man 
not  to  be  superstitious. 


190  RICHELIKU: 

DE    MAUPRAT. 

Tliy  stars 
Deceive  tliee,  Cardinal  ;  thy  soul  of  wiles 
May  against  kings  and  armaments  avail, 
And  mock  the  embattled  world  ;  but  powerless  now 
Against  the  sword  of  one  resolved  man, 
Upon  whose  forehead  thou  hast  written  shame ! 

KICHEl^lEU. 

I  breathe  ;   he  is  not  a  hireling.     Have  I  wronged 

thee  ? 
Beware  surmise —  suspicion  —  lies  !     I  am 
Too  great  for  men  to  speak  the  truth  of  me  ! 

DE  BIAUPKAT. 

Thy  ads  are  thy  accusers,  Cardinal ! 
In  his  hot  3onth,  a  soldier,  urged  to  crime 
Against  the  State,  placed  in  your  hands  his  life  ;  — 
You  did  not  strike  the  blow  —  but  o'er  his  head, 
Ujion  the  gossamer  thread  of  your  caprice. 
Hovered  the  axe.     His  the  brave  spirit's  hell, 
The  twilight  terror  of  suspense ;  —  )Our  death 
Had  set  him  free ;  he  purposed  not,  nor  pra}ed  it. 
One  day  you  summoned  —  mocked  him  with  smooth 

pardon  — 
Showered  wealth  upon  him  —  bade  an  angel's  face 
Turn  Earth  to  Paradise 

EICIIELIEU. 

Well ! 

DE   JIAUPEAT. 

Was  this  mercy  ? 
A  Caesar's  generous  vengeance  ?  —  Cardinal,  no ! 
JudaS;  not  Caesar,  was  the  model !     You 


OK,    THK    COXSPl'UACY.  1!)1 

Saved  him  from  (loath  for  shame ;  reserved  to  grow 
The  scorn  of  living  men  —  to  his  dead  sires 
Leprous  reproach  —  scort'  of  the  age  to  come  — 
A  kind  convenience  —  a  Sir  Pandarns 
To  his  own  bride,  and  the  august  adulterer! 
Then  did  the  first  great  law  of  human  hearts, 
Which  with  the  patriot's,  not  the  rebel's,  name 
Crowned  the  first  Brutus,  when  the  Tarquin  fell, 
]\Iake  JMisery  royal  —  raise  this  desperate  wretch 
Into  thy  destiny !     Expect  no  mercy  ! 
Behold  De  Mauprat ! 

\^Llfts  his  visor. 

RICHELIEU. 

To  thy  knees,  and  crawl 
For  pardon  ;  or,  I  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  live 
For  such  remorse,  tliat,  did  1  hate  thee,  I 
Would  bid  thee  strike,  that  I  might  be  avenged ! 
It  was  to  save  my  Julie  from  the  King, 
That  In  thy  valor  I  forgave  thy  crime ;  — 
It  was  —  when  thou  —  the  rash  and  ready  tool  — 
Yea  of  that  shame   thou  loath'st  —  didst  leave   tliy 

hearth 
To  the  polluter  —  in  these  arms  thy  bride 
Found  the  protecting  shelter  thine  withheld. 

[  (Jues  to  the  side  dour. 
Julie  de  Mauprat  —  Julie  ! 

Enter  Julie. 

Lo  !  my  witness  ! 

DK   SIAUPRAT. 

What  marvel 's  this  ?  —  I  dream  !  my  Julie  —  thou  ! 
This,  thy  beloved  hand  ? 


192  KiCHELiKU : 

JULIK. 

Henceforth  all  bond 
Between  us  twain  is  broken.     AVere  it  not 
For  this  old  man,  I  might,  in  truth,  have  lost 
The  right  —  now  mine  —  to  scorn  thee  ! 

KICHELIEU. 

So,  you  hear  her  ? 

DE   MAUPIJAT. 

Thou  with  some  slander  hast  her  sense  infected  ! 

JULIE. 

No,  Sir :  he  did  excuse  thee  in  despite 
Of  all  that  wears  the  face  of  truth.     Thy  friend  — 
Thy  confidant  —  familiar —  Baradas  — 
Himself  revealed  thy  baseness. 

DE   MAUPKAT. 

Baseness ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Ay; 

Chat  thou  didst  court  dishonor. 

DE   JIAUPRAT. 

Baradas  ! 
WTiere  is  thy  thunder,  Heaven  ?  —  Duped !  —  snared ! 

—  undone ! 
Thou  —  thou  couldst  not  believe  him  !     Thou  dost 

love  me  ! 
Love  cannot  feed  on  falsehoods  ! 
JULIE  (aside). 

Love  him  !  —  Ah  I 
Be  still  my  heart !    {Aloud.)    Love  you  I  did :  —  how 

fondly, 
Woman  —  if  women  were  mv  listeners  now  — 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  193 

Alone  could  tell !  —  For  ever  fled  my  dream : 
Farewell  —  all 's  over  ! 

KICIIKLIEU. 

Nay,  my  daughter,  these 
Are  but  the  blindhig  mists  of  daybreak  love, 
Sprung  from  its  very  light,  and  heralding 
A  noon  of  happy  summer.  —  Take  her  hand, 
And  speak  the  truth,  with  which  your  heart  runs 

over  — 
That  this  Count  Judas  —  this  Incarnate  Falsehood — ■ 
Never  lied  more,  than  when  he  told  thy  Julie 
That  Adrien  loved  her  not  —  except,  indeed, 
When  he  told  Adrien,  Julie  could  betray  him. 

JULTK  [embracinfj  Dk  JIaupkat). 
You  love  me,  then  !  —  j'ou  love  me  !  —  and  they 

wronged  you ! 

DK  ::mauphat. 
Ah  !  couldst  thou  doubt  it  ? 

EICHELIKU. 

AVhy,  the  very  mole 
Less  blind  than  thou  !     Baradas  loves  thy  wife  ;  — 
Had  hoped  her  hand  —  aspired  to  be  that  cloak 
To  the  King's  will,  which  to  thy  bluntness  seems 
The  Centaur's  poisonous  robe  —  hopes  even  now 
To  make  thy  corpse  his  footstool  to  thy  bed  ! 
AV^here  was  thy  wit,  man  ? — -llo!  these  schemes  are 

glass  ! 
The  very  sun  shines  througli  them. 

DV:   JIAUl'l'.AT. 

O,  my  Lord, 

Can  )'ou  forgive  me  ? 

13 


194  RICHELIEU  : 

KICHELIEU. 

A}-,  and  save  you  ! 

DE   BlAUl'KAT. 

Sa\e ! — 
Terrible  -word  !  —  O,  save  tJti/xclf:  —  these  halls 
Swarm  with  thy  foes  :  already  for  thy  blood 
Pants  thirsty  Murder ! 

JULIE. 

Murder  ? 

EICIIICI.IEU. 

Hush  !  put  by 
The  woman.     Hush  !  a  shriek  —  a  crj'  —  a  breath 
Too  loud,  would  startle  from  its  horrent  pause 
The   swooping   Death !     Go   to   the    door,   and  lis- 
ten !  — 
Now  for  escape  ! 

DE   JIAUPRAT. 

None  —  none  !     Their  blades  shall  pass 
This  heart  to  thine. 

RICnELlKU   {(Injhj). 

An  honorable  outwork. 
But  much  too  near  the  citadel.     I  tliink 
That  I  can  trust  you  now  (sloicbj,  ami  yaziny  on  him)  : 

—  yes  ;  I  can  trust  you. 
How  many  of  my  troop  league  with  you  V 

DE    MAL'PIJAT. 

AH!  — 
"We  are  jour  troop ! 

KICJIELIEU. 

And  Huouet  ? 


OR,    THE    COXSriRACY.  195 

DE    MAUPKAT. 

Is  our  captain. 

}{ICHKT>IKU. 

A  retributive  Power  !  —  Tliis  comes  of  spies  ! 
All  ?  then  the  lion's  sl^cin's  too  short  to-night, — 
Xow  for  the  fox's  ! 

JI'LIE. 

A  lioai'se,  gathci'ing  murmur !  — 
Ilurr}!ng  and  heavy  footsteps  ! 

UICIIELIKU. 

Ila  ! —  the  posterns  ? 

DE    MAUPKAT. 

Ko  egress  where  no  sentry  ! 

lUCHELIKU. 

Follow  me  — 
I  have  it  !  —  to  my  chamber  —  cpiiek  !    Come,  Julie  ! 
Hush  !     ]\Iauprat,  come  I 

(^Murmur  at  a  distance')  —  Death  to  the  Cardinal ! 

KICHELIKU. 

UloodhoiUKls,  I  laugh  at  ye  !  —  ha !  ha  !  —  we  will 
EaOle  them  yet.  —  Ila  !  ha  ! 

[Exeunt  Julie,  Maupp.at,  IhcirKi.iKU. 

HUGUET   (without). 

This  way  —  this  Avay  ! 


SCENE  III. 
Enter  IIucuet  and  the  Conspirators. 

IIUGUET. 

De  IMauprat's  hand  is  never  slow  in  battle  ;  — 
Strange,  if  it  falter  now  !     Ha !  gone  ! 


196  RICHELIEU  : 

FIKST   COSSPH'.ATOK. 

Perchance 
The  fox  had  crept  to  rest ;  and  to  his  lair 
Death,  the  dark  hunter,  ti-acks  hinx. 

[Enter  Maupuat,  ihrowin(]  open  the  doors  of  the  re- 
cess, in  which  a  bed,  ichereon  Eichelieu  lies  ex- 
tended. 

DE  MAUPHAT. 

Live  the  King! 
Kicheheu  is  dead ! 

HUGUET  {advancing  toivards  the  recess;  JIaupuat 
JbUowinffj  his  hand  on  his  dagrjev). 

Are  his  eyes  open  ? 

DE   JIAUPKAT. 

Ay, 

As  if  in  life  ! 

iiUGUET  (turning  hack). 

I  will  not  look  on  him. 
You  have  been  long. 

DE   MAUPP.AT. 

I  watched  him  till  he  slept. 
Heed  me.  — No  trace  of  blood  reveals  the  deed  ;  — 
Strangled    in    sleep.     His    health    hath   long    been 

broken  — 
Found  breathless  in  his  bed.     So  runs  our  tale, 
Remember !     Back  to  Paris —  Orleans  gives 
Ten  thousand  crowns,  and  Baradas  a  lordship. 
To  him  who  first  gluts  vengeance  Avith  the  news 
That  Richelieu  is  in  heaven  !     Quick,  that  all  France 
May  share  jour  joj- ! 

HPGUET. 

And  you  ? 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  197 

DE   MAUrKAT. 

Will  stay,  to  crush 
Eager  suspicion  —  to  forbid  sharp  eyes 
To  dwell  too  clossly  on  the  clay ;  prepare 
The  rites,  and  place  him  on  his  bier  —  this  mij  task. 
I  leave  to  you,  sirs,  the  more  grateful  lot 
Of  wealth  and  honors.     Hence  ! 

HUGUET. 

I  shall  be  noble  ! 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

Away ! 

FIKST    CONSPIRATOR. 

Five  thousand  crowns  ! 

OMNES. 

To  horse  !  —  to  horse  ! 
[Exeunt  Conspirators. 


SCENE   IV. 


Still  nif/ht.  —  A  Room  in  the  7(o?(se  o/"  Count  de  Baradas, 
U<jlited,  ijc. 

Orleans  and  De  Beringiten. 

DE   15ERIXGHEN. 

I  understand.     Mauprat  kept  guard  without : 
Knows  naught  of  the  despatch  —  but  heads  the  troop 
"Whom  the  poor  Cardinal  fancies  his  protectors. 
Save  us  from  such  protection  ! 

ORLEANS. 

Yet,  if  Iluguet, 
By  whose  advice  and  proffers  we  renounced 


198  RICHELIEU  : 

Our  earlier  scheme,  bbould  still  be  Richelieu's  minion, 
And  play  us  false  — - 

EE    rSERIXGHEN. 

The  fox  must  4:hen  devour 
The  geese  he  gripes,  (I  'm  out  of  it,  thank  Heaven  !) 
And  you  must  swear  you  smelt  the  trick,  but  seemed 
To  approve  the  deed  —  to  render  up  the  doers. 
Enter  Baradas. 

BARADAS. 

Julie  is  fled :  —  the  King,  whom  now  I  left 

To  a  most  thorny  pillow,  vows  revenge 

On  her  —  on  INIauprat  —  and  on  Richelieu  !     Well ; 

We  loyal  men  anticipate  his  Avish 

Upon  the  last  —  and  as  for  Mauprat  — 

[Shmving  a  writ. 

DE   BERINGHICN. 

Hum ! 
They  say  the  Devil  invented  printing !     Faith, 
He    has    some    hand    in    writing    parchment  —  eh, 

Count  ? 
^^^lat  mischief  now  ? 

BARADAS. 

The  King,  at  Julie's  flight 
Enraged,  will  brook  no  rival  in  a  subject  — 
So  on  this  old  offence  —  the  affair  of  Faviaux  — 
Ere  Mauprat  can  tell  tales  of  ?w,  Ave  l>uild 
His  bridge  between  the  dungeon  and  the  grave. 

OIU.EAXS. 

Well ;  if  our  courier  can  but  reach  the  army. 
The  cards  are  ours  !  —  and  yet,  I  OAvn,  I  tremble. 
Our  names  are  in  the  scroll- — discoAery,  death! 


OK,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  199 

BARADAS. 

Success,  a  crown  ! 

DE  BEUiNGHEN  (apart  to  Bauadas). 
Our  future  Regent  is 
No  hero. 

BARADAS  {to  De  BeRINGHEN). 

But  his  rank  makes  others  valiant ; 
And  on  his  cowardice  I  mount  to  power. 
Were  Orleans  Regent — what  Avere  Baradas  ? 
Oh !  by  the  way  —  I  had  forgot,  your  Highness, 
Friend  Huguet  Avhispered  me,  "  Beware  of  JNlarion : 
I  've  seen  her  lurking  near  the  Cardinal's  palace." 
Upon  that  hint,  I  've  found  her  lodgings  elsewhere. 

ORLEANS. 

You  wrong  her.  Count.     Poor  Marion  !  —  she  adores 
me. 

BARADAS  [apologetically). 

Forgive  me,  but 

Enter  Page. 

PAGE. 

]\Iy  Lord,  a  rude,  strange  soldier, 
Breathless  with  haste,  demands  an  audience. 

BAKADAS. 

So!  — 
The  archers  ? 

PAGE. 

In  the  anteroom,  my  Lord, 
As  you  desired. 

P.ARADAS. 

'T  is  well  — admit  the  solilier.      [^Exit  Page. 
Husuet !  —  I  bade  him  seek  me  here. 


200  RICHELIKU: 

Enter  Huguet. 

HUGUET. 

]\Iy  Lords, 
The  deed  is  done.  Now,  Count,  fulfil  your  word, 
And  make  me  noble  ! 

BAKABAS. 

Richelieu  dead  ?  —  art  sure  ? 
How  died  he  ? 

HUGUET. 

Strangled  in  his  sleep :  —  no  blood, 
No  telltale  violence. 

BARADAS. 

Strangled  ?  —  monstrous  villain  ! 
Reward  for  murder !     Ho,  there !  [Stamping. 

Enter  Captain   iri/li  Jive  Archers. 

HUGUET. 

No,  thou  durst  not ! 

BARADAS. 

Seize  on  the  ruffian  —  bind  him  —  gag  him  !     Olf 
To  the  Bastile ! 

HUGUET. 

Your  word  —  your  plighted  faith ! 

BARAD.\S. 

Insolent  liar  !  —  ho,  away  ! 

HUGUET. 

Nay,  Count; 
I  have  that  about  me,  which 

BARADAS. 

Away  with  him ! 
[Exeunt  Huguet  and  Archers. 
Now,  then,  all 's  safe ;  Huguet  must  die  in  prison, 


OK,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  201 

So  ]\I;uiprat :  —  coax  or  foi'ce  the  meaner  crew 
'l"o  lly  the  country.     Ila,  ha!  thus,  your  highness, 
Great  nieu  make  use  of  little  men. 

DE    ISlililNGUEN. 

My  Lords, 
Since  our  suspense  is  ended —  you  '11  excuse  me; 
'T  IS  late  —  and,  enfre  tum^,  I  have  not  supped  yet ! 
I'm  one  of  the  new  Council  now,  remember; 
I  feel  the  public  stirring  here  already; 
A  very  craving  monster.     Au  recoir  ! 

[Exit  Die  BEmNGHKx. 
oi;li-:.\ns. 
No  fear,  now  R:.:helieu  's  dead. 

ISAKADAS. 

And  could  he  come 
To  life  again,  he  could  not  keep  life's  life  — 
His  power,  —  nor  save  De  Mauprat  from  the  scaf- 
fold, — 
Isor  Julie  fi'om  these  arms  —  nor  Paris  from 
The  Spaniard  —  nor  your  Highness  from  the  throne  ! 
^,11  ours  !  all  ours  !  in  spite  of  my  Lord  Cardinal ! 

Enter  Page. 

I'AGE. 

A  gentleman,  my  Lord,  of  better  mien 
Than  he  who  last 

ISAHADAS. 

Well,  he  may  enter. 

[Exit  Page. 

ORLEANS. 

Who 

Can  this  be  V 


202  RICHELIEU  : 

BARADAS. 

One  of  the  conspirators  : 
Mauprat  himself,  perhaps. 

Enter  Feancois. 
FRAN901S. 

My  Lord 

BAKADAS. 

Ha,  traitor ! 
In  Paris  still  ? 

FRAXOOIS. 

The  packet  —  the  despatch  — 
Some  knave  played  spy  without,  and  reft  it  from  nie, 
Ere  I  could  draw  my  sword. 

BARADAS. 

Played  spy  loithout ! 
Did  he  wear  armor  ? 

FRANCOIS. 

Ay,  from  head  to  heel. 

ORLEANS. 

One  of  our  band.     O,  heavens  1 

BAKADAS. 

Could  it  be  Mauprat  ? 
Kept  guard    at  the  door  —  knew  naught  of  the  de- 
spatch — 
How  HE  ?  —  and  yet,  who  other  ? 

FRANCOIS. 

Ha,  De  Mauprat ! 
The  night  was  dark  —  his  visor  closed. 

BAKADAS. 

'T  was  he  ! 
How   could  he  guess  ?  —  'sdeath  !  if  he  should  be- 
tray us. 


OR,    THE    COXSPIRACY.  203 

His  hate  to  Richelieu  dies  with  Richelieu  —  and 
He  was  not  great  enough  for  treason.  —  Hence  ! 
Find  ^Nlauprat  —  beg,  steal,  filch,  or  force  it  back, 
Or,  as  I  live,  the  halter 

FKANOOIS. 

By  the  morrow 
I  will  regain  it,  (^aside)  and  redeem  my  honor ! 

[£xit  Fkan^ois. 

ORLEANS. 

Oh,  we  are  lost  — 

BARADAS. 

Kot  so !     But  cause  on  cause 
For    Mauprat's    seizure  —  silence  —  death!      Take 
courage. 

ORLEANS. 

Should  it  once  reach  the  King,  the  Cardinal's  arm 
Could  smite  us  from  the  grave. 

I3ARADAS. 

Sir,  think  it  not ! 
I  hold  De  ^Mauprat  in  my  grasp.     To-morrow, 
And  France  is  ours  !     Thou  dark  and  fallen  Angc^l, 
"Whose    name   on   earth's   Ami$itiox  —  thou    that 

mak'st 
Thy  throne  on  treasons,  stratagems,  and  murder  — 
And  with  thy  fierce  and  blood-red  smile  canst  quench 
The  guiding  stars  of  solemn  empire  —  hear  us  — 
(For  we  are  thine)  —  and  light  us  to  the  goal ! 


204  liiciiELiEU ; 


ACT  IV. 

THIRD    DAY. 

Scene  I. —  Tlie   Gardens  of  the  Louvre. —  Orleans,  Ba- 
EADAs,  De  1>ki:in(;iiex,  Courtiers,  i.fc. 

ORLEANS. 

How  does  my  brother  bear  tlie  Cardinal's  death  ? 

BAKADAS. 

Witli  grief,  when  thinking  of  the  toils  of  State  ; 
With  joy,  Avhen  thinking  of  the  eyes  of  Julie  :  — 
At  times  he  sighs,  "  Who  now  shall  govern  France  ?" 
Anon  exclaims,  "  Who  now  shall  baffle  Louis  V  " 

Enter  Louis  and  other  Courtiers.     (  Tliey  uneover.) 

ORLEANS. 

Now,  my  liege,  now,  I  can  embrace  a  brother. 

LOUIS. 

Dear  Gaston,  yes.  —  I  do  believe  you  loce  me  ;  — 

Richelieu  denied  it  —  severed  us  too  long. 

A  great  man,  Gaston  !     Who  shall  govern  France  ? 

BAKADAS. 

Yourself,  my  liege.     That  swart  and  potent  star 
Eclipsed  your  royal  orb.     He  served  the  country, 
But  did  he  serve.,  or  seek  to  sicay  the  King  ? 

[louis. 
You  're  right  —  he  was  an  able  politician  — 
That's  all:  — between  ourselves,  Count,  I  suspect 


OR,    THE    COXSPIUACY.  205 

The  largeness  of  liis  learning  —  specially 
In  falcons  *  —  a  poor  huntsman,  too  ! 

UAKADAS. 

Ila  —  ha ! 
Your  jMajesty  remembers 

LOUIS. 

Ay,  the  blunder 
Between  the  fjrcfjier  and  the  souillard  when  — 

[  Checks  and  crosses  himself. 
Alas  !  poor  sinners  that  Ave  are  !  we  lau^h 
While  this  great  man  —  a  priest,  a  cardinal, 
A  faithful  servant  —  out  upon  us  !  — 


EAKADAS. 


Sire, 


*  Louis  XIII.  is  said  to  have  possessed  some  natural  talents, 
and  in  earlier  youth  to  have  exliibited  tlic  germs  of  nolile  quali- 
ties ;  but  a  l)lij;lit  seems  to  have  passed  over  his  niatiirer  life. 
Personally  brave,  but  morally  timid,  —  always  governed,  whether 
by  his  in;>thcr  or  his  minister,  and  always  repinin;;  at  tlic  yoke. 
The  only  afiocl ion  anioiintiiif;  to  a  passion  that  he  betrayed  was 
for  the  sports  of  the  field  ;  yet  it  was  his  craving  weakness,  (and 
this  throws  a  kind  of  false  interest  over  his  character,)  to  wish 
to  be  loved.  He  himself  loved  no  one.  Ho  suffered  the  only 
woman  who  seems  to  have  been  attached  to  him  to  wither  in  a 
convent; — he  pave  up  favorite  after  favorite  to  exile  or  tlio 
block.  When  Riche  ieu  died,  ho  said  coldly,  "Voili  un  grand 
politique  mort  !  "  and  when  the  ill  fated  but  un|irincipled  Cinq 
Wars,  whom  ho  called  "  le  cher  ami,"  was  beheaded,  he  drew 
out  his  watch  at  the  fatal  hour,  and  said  with  a  smile,  "I  think 
at  this  moment  that  le  cher  ami  fait  une  vilaine  mine.''''  Never- 
theless, his  conscience  at  tunes  (f.ir  he  was  devout  and  supersti- 
liou.)  made  him  gentle,  and  his  pride  and  honor  would  often, 
■\\bcn  least  exported,  rou.-e  him  into  liauglity  but  brief  resist- 
ance to  the  despotism  Uncer  vvji(.,i  '.>o  lived. 


206  niCHELiEU : 

If  my  brow  wear  no  cloud,  't  is  that  the  Cardinal 
No  longer  shades  the  King. 

LOUIS  {looh'mg  np  at  the  shies). 

O,  Baradas ! 
Am  I  not  to  be  pitied  ?  —  what  a  day 
For  — 

BARADAS. 

Sorrow  ?  —  No,  sire  ! 

LOUIS. 

Bah  !  for  Jiunting,  man, 
And  Richelieu  's  dead  ;  't  would  be  an  indecorum 
Till  he  is  buried  —  {jjawns)  —  life  is  very  tedious. 
I  made  a  madrigal  on  life  last  week : 
You  do  not  sing,*  Count?  —  Pity;  you  should  learn. 
Poor  Richelieu  had  no  ear  —  yet  a  great  man. 
Ah  !  Avhat  a  weary  weight  devolves  upon  me  ! 
These  endless  wai's  —  these  thankless  Parliaments  — 
The  snares  in  which  he  tangled  States  and  Kings, 
Like  the  old  fisher  of  the  fable,  Proteus, 
Netting  great  Neptune's  wariest  tribes,  and  chang- 
ing 
Into  all  shapes  when  Craft  pursued  himself: 
O,  a  great  man  ! 

BARADAS. 

Your  royal  mother  said  so, 
And  died  in  exile. 


*  Louis  had  some  musical  taste  and  accomplisliii>ent,  wliere- 
witli  lie  often  communicated  to  his  favorites  some  of  tliat  weari- 
some ennui  under  which  lie  himself  almost  unceasingly  laii- 
giiisheU. 


207 


OR,    THE   COXSriRACY. 

LOUIS  {sadlij). 
True  :  I  loved  my  mother.* 

BAKADAS. 

The  Cardinal  dies.  —  Yet  day  revives  the  earth  •, 
Tiie  rivers  rim  not  back      In  truth,  my  liege, 
Did  your  high  orb  on  others  shine  as  him, 
Why,  things  as  dull  in  their  own  selves  as  I  am 
Would  <t1ow  as  brightly  "vvith  the  borrowed  beam,  f 

LOUIS. 

Ahem  !  —  He  was  too  stern. 

OKLEAXS. 

A  very  Nero. 


*  One  of  Louis's  most  bitter  complaints  against  Ricliolieu  was 
tiic  (•outiiiued  banisliincntof  tlie  auccn  Motlier.  It  is  impossible, 
liowevcr,  not  to  bo  convinced  tliat  Ilio  return  of  that  most  wortli- 
less  intrigante  was  wliolly  incompatible  with  the  tran()uillity  of 
the  kingdom.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  the  poverty  and  privation 
which  she  endured  in  exile  are  discreditable  to  the  generosity  and 
the  gratitude  of  Richelieu  ;  she  was  his  first  patron,  though  after- 
wards his  most  powerful  persecutor. 

■(■  In  his  Memoirs,  Riclielieu  gives  an  amusing  account  of  the 
insolence  and  arts  of  Haradas,  and  observes,  with  indignant 
astonishment,  that  the  favorite  was  never  weary  of  repeating  to 
the  King  that  he  (Baradas)  would  liavo  made  just  as  great  a 
minister  as  Riclielieu.  It  is  on  Ilio  attacliment  of  Baradas  to 
La  Cressias,  a  maid  of  honor  to  the  Queen  Mother,  of  whom, 
according  to  Baradas,  the  King  was  enamored  also,  that  his  love 
for  the  Julie  de  .Mortemar  of  the  play  has  been  founded  Tlio 
secret  of  Baradas's  sudden  and  extraordinary  influence  vvith  the 
King  seems  to  rest  in  the  personal  adoration  which  he  professed 
for  Ixiuis,  with  whom  ho  affected  all  the  jealousy  of  a  lover,  but 
whom  he  flattered  with  the  ardent  chivalry  of  a  knight.  Even 
after  his  disgrace  ho  placed  upon  his  banner,  "  Fiat  voluntas 
tua." 


208  RICHELIEU : 

BARADAS. 

His  power  was  like  the  Capitol  of  old  — 
Built  on  a  human  skull. 

LOUIS. 

And,  had  he  lived, 
I  know  another  head,  my  Baradas, 
That  would  have  propped  the  pile :  I  've  seen  him 

eye  thee 
With  a  most  hungry  faney. 

BARADAS  [anxinuslij). 

Sire,  I  knew 
You  would  protect  me. 

LOUIS. 

Did  you  so  ?  of  course  ! 
And  yet  he  had  a  way  Avith  him  —  a  something 

That  always But  no  matter —  he  is  dead. 

And,  after  all,  men  called  his  King  "  The  Just,"* 
And  so  I  am.     Dear  Count,  this  silliest  Julie, 
I  know  not  why,  slie  takes  my  fancy.     jMany 
As  fair,  and  certainly  more  kind ;  but  yet 
It  is  so.     Co;int,  1  am  no  lustful  Tarquin, 
And  do  abhor  the  bold  and  frontless  vices 
"Which  the  ChurL-h  justly  censures  ;  yet,  't  is  sad 
0.1  rainy  days  to  drag  out  weary  hours  ■]•  — 
Deaf  to  the  music  of  a  woman's  voice  — 


*  Louis  was  callcrt  Tho  Just,  but  for  no  other  reason  than  tliat 
lie  u':i;  l)i:rn  i;i)dcr  tho  Li!)i:i. 

I  L.mij  XIIL  <li,l  n:it  rcsomWa  cither  hn  father  or  his  son  in 
the  nr:inr  of  his  altacliments ;  if  not  wimlly  platonic,  tliey  wcro 
wlioUy  uniiiipiissionc^l  :  yet  no  man  was  more  jealous,  or  mora 
unscrupulously  tyrannical  when  the  jealousy  was  aroused. 


OR,   THE    CONSPIRACY.  209 

Blind  to  the  sunshine  of  a  woman's  eyes. 
It  is  no  sin  in  Kinjjs  to  seek  annisement ; 
And  that  is  all  I  seek.     I  miss  her  much  — 
She  has  a  silver  laugh  —  a  rare  perfection. 

liAKADAS. 

liichclieu  was  most  dislo}al  in  that  marriage.] 

i.ouKs  {(/neniJuiixJij). 
lie  knew  tliat  Julie  pleased  me  :  —  a  clear  proof 
He  never  loved  me  ! 

liAKAnAS. 

0,  most  clear !  —  But  now 
Xo  bar  between  the  lady  and  your  will ! 
This  writ  makes  all  secure:  a  w(M'k  or  two 
In  the  Bastile  will  sober  Mauprat's  love, 
And  leave  him  eager  to  dissolve  a  hymen 
That  brings  him  such  a  home. 

LOUIS. 

See  to  it,  Count. 
[JJjiil  Rakadas. 
I  'II  summon  Julie  back.     A  word  Avith  you. 

[  Takes  aside  First  Coiivticr  anil  1)e  Beuixgiikn',  and 
passes,  conversinrj  with  them,  throui/h  (he  Gitnlens. 

Enter  Franvois. 

FI'.AXfOIS. 

All  search,  as  yet,  in  vain  for  JMauprat !  —  Not 

At  home  since  yesternoon  —  a  soldier  told  mo 

He  saw  \\m\  pass  this  way  with  hasty  strides; 

Sliould  he  meet  Baradas  —  they  'd  rend  it  from  him  — 

And  then  —  benignant  Fortune,  smile  upon  me  — 

I  am  thy  son  !  —  if  thou  desert'st  me  now, 

Come,  Death,  and  snatch  me  from  disgrace.    But,  no. 


210  RICHELIEU: 

There  's  a  great  Sj^irit  ever  in  the  air 
That  from  prolific  and  far-spreading  wings 
Scatters  the  seeds  of  honor  —  yea,  the  walls 
And  moats  of  castled  forts — the  barren  seas  — 
The  cell  wherein  the  pale-eyed  student  holds 
Talk  with  melodious  science  —  all  are  sown 
With  everlasting  honors,  if  our  souls 
Will  toil  for  fame  as  boors  for  bread  — 
Enter  Maupkat. 

DE  3IAUPKAT. 

O,  let  me  — 
Let  me  but  meet  him  foot  to  foot  —  I'll  dig 
The  Judas  from  his  heart ;  —  albeit  the  King 
Should  o'er  him  cast  the  purple  ! 
FEAN901S. 

jNIaujn-at !    hold :  — 
'\'\Tiere  is  the 

DE    MAUPRAT. 

Well !     What  would  st  thou  ? 

FRAX(;'OIS. 

The  despatch  ! 
The  packet.  —  Look  ox  me  —  I  serve  the  Cardinal; 
You  know  me.  —  Did  j-ou  not  keep  guard  last  night 
By  ]\Iarion's  house  ? 

DE  JIAUPP.AT. 

I  did  ;  —  no  matter  now  I  — 
They  told  me,  lie  was  here  !  — 

FRANCOIS. 

O  joy  !  quick  —  quick  — 
The  packet  thou  didst  wrest  from  me  ? 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  211 

DE  MAUPRAT. 

The  packet  ?  — 
What,  art  thou  he  I  deemed  the  Cardinal's  spy 
(Dupe  that  I  was)  —  and  overhearing  JMarion  — 

FltAXf'OIS. 

The  same  —  restore  it  I  —  haste ! 

DE   MAUrilAT. 

I  have  it  not :  — 

Methought  it  but  revealed  our  scheme  to  Richelieu, 

And,  as  we  mounted,  gave  it  to 

J^nter  Bakadas. 

Stand  back  ! 

Now,  villain  !  now  —  I  have  thee  ! 

{To  Francois.)  —  Hence,  Sir  !  — Draio  ! 

FEANOOIS. 

Art  mad  ?  —  the  King's  at  hand  !  leave  liim  to  Riche- 
lieu ! 
Speak  — -  the  despatch  —  to  whom  — 
DE  MAUPRAT  {dasliiiifj  him  aside,  and  rushing  to  Baradas). 
Thou  triple  slanderer ! 

I  '11  set  my  heel  upon  thj'  crest ! 

{A  few  passes. 

FRANCOIS. 

Fly -fly!- 
The  King  !  — 

L'liter  at  one  side  Louis,  Orleans,  De  Beringitex,  Court- 
iers, cJ'C. ;  at  the  other,  the  Guards  hastily. 

LOUIS. 

Swords  di-awn  —  before  our  very  palace  !  — 
Have  our  laws  died  with  Richelieu  ? 
baradas. 

Pardon,  Sire, — 


212  RICHKLIKU: 

My  crime  but  self-<lefenre.*     (^Aside  to  KiJfG.)     It 
is  De  IMauprat ! 

LOUIS. 

Dare  lie  tliiis  brave  iis  ? 

[Bakauas  fjots  to  the  GmirJ,  and  gicesthe  writ. 

DE   MAUPI'.AT. 

Sire,  In  the  Cardinal's  name  — 

BARADAS. 

Seize  him  —  disarm  —  to  the  Bastlle  I 

[  De  JIaui'HAT  seized,  stnu/(/les  icilh  the  Guard  — 
Francois  restlessly  endenvnnng  to  pacify  and  speah 
to  hi  in  —  when  the  r/ntes  cpen.  Enter  Riciielikl'  — 
Joseph  — followed  by  Arquebusiers. 

BARADAS. 

The  Dead 
Returned  to  life  ! 

LOUIS. 

What !  a  mock  death  !  this  tops 
The  Infinite  of  Insult. 

DE  JiAuritAT  {hreaJcing  from  the  Guards). 
Priest  and  Hero  !  — 
For  you  are  both  —  protect  the  truth  !  — 


*  One  of  Riclielieii's  severest  and  least  politic  laws  was  that 
vviiicli  made  duelliii;;  a  cajiital  crime.  Never  was  the  punishment 
against  the  otienco  more  relentlessly  enforced  ;  and  never  were 
duels  so  desperate  and  so  numerous.  The  punishment  of  dcatli 
must  be  evidently  ineffectual  so  lonji  as  to  refuse  a  duel  is  to  ho 
dislionorcd,  and  so  lou<r  as  men  hold  the  doctrine,  however  wron;;, 
tliat  it  is  better  to  part  with  the  life  that  Heaven  pave  than  Iho 
honiir  man  makes.  In  fict,  the  greater  the  danser  he  incurred, 
tlio  nrcatcr  was  the  punctilio  of  the  cavalier  of  tliat  time  m 
braving  it. 


OR,    THE   COXSPIUACY.  213 

KiciiELiKU  [takbuj  the  irril  from  the  Guard). 

What's  this? 

DK    liEHINGTIEN. 

Fact  in  philosophy.     Foxes  have  got 
Nine  lives,  as  well  as  cats !  — 

BAKADAS. 

Be  firm,  my  liege. 

LOUIS. 

I  have  assumed  the  seeptre  —  I  will  wield  it ! 

JOSKl'U. 

The  tide  runs  counter  —  there'll  be  shipwreck  some- 
where. 
[B.MJADAS  nnd  Ori-eans  heap  close  to  the  King,  %phis 
periny  andj'roinjitinij  him  wlttii  Richelieu  speaks- 
inciiEi.ncu. 
High  treason  —  Faviaux  !  still  that  stale  pretence  ! 
My  liege,  bad  men  (ay.  Count,  most  knavish  men  !) 
Abuse  your  royal  goodness.  —  For  this  soldier, 
France  hath  none  braver  —  and  his  youth's  hot  folly, 
Misled  —  (by    whom    your    IJir/hne.ss    may    conjec- 
ture I)  — 
Is  long  since  cancelled  by  a  loyal  manhood.  — 
I,  Sire,  have  pardoned  him. 

LOUIS. 

And  we  do  give 
Your  pardon  to  the  winds.  —  Sir,  do  your  duty  ! 

ItU^lIELIEU. 

What,  Sire  ?  —  you  do  not  know  —  O,  pardon  me  — 
You  know  not  yet,  that  this  brave,  honest  heart 
Stood  between  mine  and    murder  !  —  Sire !  for  my 
sake  — 


214  RICHELIEU  : 

For  your  old  servant's  sake  —  undo  this  wrong. 
See,  let  me  rend  the  sentence. 

LOUIS. 

At  your  peril  ! 
This  is  too  much :  —  Again,  Sir,  do  your  duty  ! 

KICHEHEU. 

Speak  not,  but  go  :  - —  I  would  not  see  young  Valor 
So  humbled  as  gray  Service. 

DE   JIAUPRAT. 

Fare  you  well 
Save  Julie,  and  console  her. 

FRANijois  {aside  to  ]\Iauprat). 

The  despatch  ! 
Your  fate,  foes,  life,  hang  on  a  word  !  —  to  whom  ? 

DE   MAUPRAT. 

To  Iluguet. 

FRANI^OIS. 

Hush  —  keep  counsel !  —  silence  —  hope  ! 
[Exeunt  Mauprat  and  Guard. 

BARADAS  (aside  to  Francois). 
Has  he  the  packet  ? 

FRANCpiS. 

lie  will  not  reveal  — 
(^Aside.)     AVork,  brain  !  —  beat,  heart !  —  "  There  's  , 
no  such  iL'ord  as  fail  !  " 

[Exit  Francois. 
RICHELIEU  {^fiercely). 
E,oom,  my  Lords,  room!  —  the  INIinister  of  France 
Can  need  no  intercession  with  the  King. 

[  They  fail  back. 


OR,   THK   COXSPIRACY.  215 

LOUIS. 

What  means  this  false  report  of  death,  Lord  Cardi- 
nal? 

KICIIELIFAI. 

Are  you  then  angered,  Sire,  that  I  live  still  ? 

LOUIS. 

No ;  but  such  artifice  — 

RICHELIEU. 

Not  mine :  —  look  elsewhere  ! 
Louis  —  my  castle  swarmed  Avith  the  assassins. 

BARADAs  {advancing). 
We  have  punished  them  already.     Huguet  now 
In  the  Bastile.  —  Oh  !  my  Lord,  we  were  prompt 
To  avenge  you  —  loe  were  — 

RICHELIEU. 

We  ?  —  Ha !  ha !  you  hear, 
]\Iy  liege  !     What  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  gram- 
mar 
]\Iade  }'ou  a  plural  ?     Count,  you  have  seized  the 

hireling :  — 
Sire,  shall  I  name  the  master  ? 

LOUIS. 

Tush !  my  Lord, 
The  old  contrivance  :  —  ever  does  your  wit 
Livent  assassins,  —  that  ambition  may 
Slay  rivals  — 

RICHELIEU. 

Ri\'als,  Sire,  in  what? 
Service  to  France  ?     I  hare  none  !    Lives  the  man 
^\'liom  Europe,  paled  before  your  gloiy,  deems 
llival  to  Armand  Richelieu  ? 


216  iiiCHKLiKu: 

LOUIS. 

"What,  so  hauglity ! 
Kemember,  he  who  made  can  unmake. 

HICIIELIEU. 

Never  I 
Never !     Your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 
Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands, 
mUe  my  coffers,  —  but  my  name  —  my  deeds, 
Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre ! 
Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will ;  from  Kings, 
Lo  !  I  appeal  to  time  !     [Be  just,  my  liege  — 
I  found  your  kingdom  rent  with  heresies 
And  bristling  with  rebellion  ;  lawless  nobles 
And  breadless  serfs;  England  tbmcnting  discord; 
Austria —  her  clutch  on  your  dominion  ;   Spain 
Forging  the  prodigal  gold  of  either  Ind 
To  armed  thunderbolts.     The  Arts  lay  dead. 
Trade  rotted  in  your  marts,  your  Armies  nuUinous, 
Your  Treasury  bankrupt.     Would  you  now  revoke 
Your  trust,  so  be  it!  and  I  leave  you,  sole 
Supremest  Monarch  of  the  mightiest  realm, 
From  Gauges  to  the  Icebergs  :  —  Look  Avithout ; 
No  foe  not  humbled  !  —  Look  within;  the  Arts 
Quit  for  your  schools  their  old  Ilcsperides, 
The  golden  Ilaly  !  while  through  the  veins 
Of  your  vast  empire  flows  in  strengthening  tides 
Tkade,  the  calm  health  of  nations  ! 

Sire,  I  know 
Your  smoother  courtiers  please  you  best  —  nor  meas- 
ure 
Myself  with  them,  —  yet  sometimes  I  would  doubt 


OR,    THE   CONSPIRACY.  217 

If  Statesmen  rocked  and  dandled  into  power 
Could  leave  such  legacies  to  kings  ! 

[Louis  appeal's  irresolute. 
BAEAUAS  ipassinr/  him,  ichispcrs). 

But  Julie, 
Shall  I  not  summon  her  to  court  V] 

LOUIS  (motions  to  Bakadas  and  turns  liaugldily  to  the 
Caudixal). 

Enough  !. 
Your  Eminence  must  excuse  a  longer  audience. 
To  jour  own  palace  :  —  For  our  conference,  this 
Nor  place  —  nor  season. 

niCIIELIEU. 

Good  my  liege,  for  Justice 
All  place  a  temple,  and  all  season,  summer!  — 
Do  you  deny  me  justice  ?  —  Saints  of  Heaven  ! 
He  turns  from  me  !  —  Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 
For  fifteen  years,  Avhile  in  these  hands  dwelt  Empire, 
The  humblest  craftsman  —  the  obscurest  vassal  — 
The  very  leper  shrinking  from  the  sun. 
Though  loathed  by  Charity,  might  ask  for  justice  !  — 
Not  with  the  fawning  tone  and  crawling  mien 
Of  some  I  see  around  you  —  Counts  and  Princes  — 
Kneeling  i'or favors  :  —  but,  erect  and  loud. 
As  men  who  ask  man's  lights  !  —  my  liege,  my  Louis, 
Do  you  refuse  me  justice  —  audience  even  — 
In  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  Murder?  * 


*  For  tlie  haughty  and  rebuking  tone  which  Richelieu  assumed 
in  his  expostulations  witli  the  King,  see  his  Memoirs  (pas.yim)  in 
Petitot's  collection,  vols.  23-  :3U  (i/A-).  Montesquieu  in  one  of  his 
hrilli.uit  antitheses,  says  well  of  Riclielieu,  "II  avila  lo  roi,  mais 
il  illustra  le  regne." 


218  RICHELIEU: 

LOUIS. 

Lord  Cardinal  —  one  by  one  you  liave  severed  from 

me 
The  bonds  of  human  love.     All  near  and  dear 
Marked  out  for  vengeance  —  exile  or  the  scaffold. 
You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 
INI}'  closest  kindred  ;  —  j'ou  would  tear  them  from  me ; 
They  murder  you  forsooth,  since  me  they  love ! 
Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign  ! 
Home  !  —  Home  !  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms  ! 

lUCHELIKU. 

Sire ! 
I patience,   Heaven!  —  sweet  Heaven! — Sire, 

from  the  foot 
Of  that  Great  Throne,  these  hands  have  raised  aloft 
On  an  Olympus,  looking  down  on  mortals 
And  worshipped  by  their  awe  —  before  the  foot 
Of  that  high   throne,  —  spum   you  the  graj'-halred 

man 
"Who  gave  you  empire  —  and  now  sues  for  safetj^  ? 

LOUIS. 

No :  —  when  we  see  your  Eminence  in  truth 
At  ihti  foot  of  the  throne  —  we'll  listen  to  you. 

\^Exit  Louis. 

ORLEANS. 

Saved ! 

BAKAnAS. 

For  this,  deep  thanks  to  Julie  and  to  Mauprat  I 

EICUKLIKU. 

My  Lord  de  Baradas  —  I  pray  your  pardon  — 
You  are  to  be  my  successor !  —  your  hand,  Sir ! 


ou,  THE  coxsriRACY.  219 

BAKADAS  {aside). 
What  can  this  mean  ?  — 

KICIir.blEU. 

It  trembles,  see  !  it  trembles ! 
The  hand  that  holds  the  destinies  of  nations 
Ought  to  shake  less  !  —  poor  Baradas  —  poor  France  ! 

UARADAS. 

Insolent 

[Exeunt  Bakadas  ayid  Orleans. 


SCENE  II. 


RICHELIEU. 

Joseph  —  Did  you  hear  the  King  ? 

JOSEPH. 

I  did  —  there  's  danger !     Had  you  been  less  haugh- 
ty * 

RICHELIEU. 

And  sufTered  slaves  to  chuckle  —  "  See  the  Cardi- 
nal— 


*  However  "  orrrndUcur.  "  and  "  coUre  "  in  his  disputes  with 
I.oiiis,  Ills  Cardinal  did  luit  always  disdain  recourse  to  the  arts 
of  the  courtier  ;  once,  after  an  angry  discussion  with  the  King,  in 
which,  as  usual,  Richelieu  got  the  hetter,  Louis,  as  they  quitted 
the  palace  together,  said,  rudely,  "  Sortez  le  preinrer ;  votis  etes 
bieii  le  roi  de  France."  "  Si  je  passe  le  premier,"  replied  tho 
minister,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  with  great  adroitness, 
"  ce  lie  pent  etre  (pie  comnie  le  plus  linmble  ile  vos  scrvitciirs  "  ; 
and  he  took  a  Hamhoau  from  one  of  the  pages  to  light  the  King 
as  lie  walked  before  liiia —  "  en  reculant  et  sans  tourncr  le  dos." 


220  mcHELiEU : 

How  meek  his  Eminence  is  to-day  ! " —  I  tell  thee 
This  is  a  strife  in  wliich  the  loftiest  look 
Is  the  most  subtle  armor 

JOSEPH. 

But 

r.ICHKHEU. 

No  time 
For  ifs  and  buts.     I  Avill  accuse  these  traitors ! 
Franc^ois  shall  witness  that  De  Baradas 
Gave  him  the  secret  missive  for  De  Bouillon, 
And  told  him  life  and  death  were  in  the  scroll. 
I  will  —  I  will  — 

JOSEPH. 

Tush  !     Franc^'ois  is  jour  creature  ; 
So  they  will  say,  and  laugh  at  you  !  —  your  wilneas 
3Iust  he  ilial  same  De>>j)atch. 

ailCHELIEU. 

Away  to  ]\Iarion  ! 

JOSKPU. 

I    have   been    there  —  she    is   seized  —  removed  — 

imprisoned  — 
By  the  Count's  orders. 

ItlCHELIEU. 

Goddess  of  bright  dreams, 
]\Iy  country  —  shalt  thou  lose  me  now,  when  most 
Tiiou  need'st  thy  worshipper  ?     ]\Iy  native  land  ! 
Let  me  but  ward  this  dagger  from  th}-  heart, 
And  die  —  but  on  thy  bosom  ! 
Enter  Julie. 

.  JULIE. 

Heaven  !   I  thank  thee ! 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  'J21 

It  cannot  be,  or  this  all-powerful  man 
Would  not  stand  idly  thus. 

laCIIKLIEU. 

^Vhat  dost  tliou  here  V 
Home  ! 

JULIE. 

Home  !  —  is  Adrien  there  ?  —  you  're   dumb  — 
yet  strive 
For  words ;  I  see  them  trembling  on  your  lip. 
But  choked  by  pity.     It  was  truth  —  all  truth  ! 
Seized  —  the  Bastile  — and  in  your  presence,  too  ! 
Cardinal,  where  is  Adrien  ?  —  Think  —  he  saved 
Your  life  :  —  your  name  is  infamy,  if  wrong 
Should  come  to  his  ! 

KICHKLIEU. 

Be  soothed,  child. 

JULIE. 

Child  no  more ; 
I  love,  and  I  am  woman  !     Hope  and  softer  — 
Love,  suftering,    hope,  —  what    else  doth  make  the 

strength 
And  majesty  of  woman  ?  —  "Where  is  Adrien  ? 

EiciiELiEu  {to  Joseph). 
Your  youth  was  never  young  —  you  never  loved  :  — 
Speak  to  her  — 

josErn. 
Nay,  take  heed  —  the  King's  command, 
'T  is  true  —  I  nu'un  —  the  — 

Jl  LIE    {to    ItlCHELIEU). 

Let  thine  eyes  meet  mine  ; 
Answer  me  but  one  wovd  —  I  am  a  wife  — 


222  RICHELIEU: 

I  ask  thee  for  my  liome  —  my  fate  —  my  all  ! 
Whore  is  my  huaband? 

RICHELIEU. 

You  are  Richelieu's  Avard, 
A  soldier's  bride  :  they  who  insist  on  truth 
Must  outface  fear ;  —  you  ask  me  for  }our  husband  V 
There  —  where  the  clouds  of  heaven  look  darkest,  o'er 
The  domes  of  the  Bastile  ! 

JULIE. 

I  thank  }ou,  father ; 
You  see  I  do  not  shudder.  Heaven  forgive  you 
The  sin  of  this  desertion  ! 

MCHELIEU  (detaininr/  hei-). 

"Whither  wouldst  thou  ? 

JULIE. 

Stay  me  not.     Fie  !     I  should  be  there  already. 

I  am  thy  ward,  and  haply  he  may  think 

Thou  'st  taught  vie  also  to  forsake  the  wretched  ! 

laCHELIEU. 

I  've  filled  those  cells  —  with  many  —  traitors  all. 
Had  they  wl\es  too  ?  —  Thy  memories,  Power,  are 

solemn  ! 
Poor  suiferer !  —  think'st  thou  that  yon  gates  of  woe 
Unbar  to  love  ?     Alas  !  if  love  once  enter, 
'T  is  for  the  last  farewell ;  between  those  walls 
And    the    mute    grave  *  —  the    blessed    household 

sounds 


*  "  Selon  l'iis;if;e  de  Louis  XIII.,  faire  arreter  qiiel(|u'uii  pour 
crime  d'etat,  et  le  faire  luourir,  I'etait  J.  jieu  prcs  le  meirie  chose." 
—  Le  C'LEnc. 


OR,   THE    COXSPIRACY.  223 

Only  heard  once  —  while,  hungering  at  the  door. 
The  headsman  whets  the  axe. 

JUUK. 

O  mercy  !  mercy  ! 
Save  him,  restore  him,  father !     Art  thou  not 
The  Cardinal-King?  —  the  Lord  of  lite  and  death — ■ 
Beneath  whose  light,  as  deeps  beneath  the  moon, 
The  solemn  tides  of  Empire  ebb  and  flow  ?  — 
Art  thou  not  Richelieu  ? 

KICHELIEU. 

Yesterday  I  Avas  !  — 
To-day,  a  very  weak  old  man  !  —  To-morrow, 
I  know  not  what ! 

JULIE. 

Do  you  conceive  his  meaning  ? 
Alas!  I  cannot.     But,  methinks,  my  senses 
Are  duller  than  they  were  ! 

JOSKIMI. 

The  King  is  chafed 
Against  his  servant.     Lady,  while  we  sjieak, 
The  lackey  of  the  anteroom  is  not 
]More  powerless  than  the  JNlinister  of  France. 

[I'.ICHELIEU. 

And  yet  the  air  is  still ;  Heaven  wears  no  cloud  ; 
From  Nature's  silent  orbit  starts  no  portent 
To  warn  the  unconscious  world  ;  —  albeit  this  night 
]\Iay  witli  a  morrow  teem  which,  in  my  fall, 
AVould  carry  earthquake  to  remotest  lands. 
And   change   the   Christian    globe.      What  wouldsl 
thou,  woman  ? 


224  RiciiELiKU  : 

Thy  fate  and  liis,  Avith  mine,  for  good  or  ill, 
Are  woven  threads.  In  my  va^  sura  of  life 
Millions  such  units  merge.] 

Filter  Fii-st  Courtier. 

FIKST    COUKTIER. 

^ladame  de  INIauprat ! 
Pardon,  your  Eminence  —  even  now  I  seek 
This  lady's  home  —  commanded  by  the  King 
To  pray  her  presence. 

JULIK  {clinging  to  Eichelieu). 

Think  of  my  dead  father!  — 
Think  how,  an  infant,  clinging  to  your  knees, 
And  looking  to  )'our  eyes,  the  wrinkled  care 
Fled  from  your  brow  before  the  smile  of  childhood, 
Fresh  fi-om  the  dews  of  heaven  !     Think  of  this, 
And  take  me  to  your  breast. 

KICIIELIEU. 

To  those  who  sent  you  !  — - 
And  say  you  found  the  virtue  they  would  slay 
Here  —  couched  upon  this  heart,  as  at  an  altar, 
And  sheltered  by  the  wings  of  sacred  Home  ! 
Begone ! 

FIRST   COURTIER. 

]My  Lord,  I  am  your  friend  and  servant  — 
Misjudge  me  not ;  but  never  yet  was  Louis 
So  roused  against  }-ou  :  —  shall  I  take  this  answer  V  — 
It  were  to  be  your  foe. 

RICHELIEU. 

All  time  my  foe. 
If  I,  a  Priest,  could  cast  this  holy  Sorrow 
Forth  from  her  last  asylum ! 


I 


on,  THE  CONSPIRACY.  225 

FIKST   COUItTIEK. 

He  is  lost ! 

[Exit  First  Courtier. 

KICHELIF.U. 

Goil  help  thee,  child  !  —  she  hears  not !     Look  upon 

her! 
The  storm,  that  rends  the  oak,  uproots  the  ilower. 
Her  tather  loved  me  so  !  and  in  that  age 
Wlien  friends  are  brothers  !     She  has  been  to  nie 
Soother,    nurse,    plaything,    daughter.     Are    these 

tears  V  * 
O  shame,  shame  !  —  dotage  ! 

JOSEPH. 

Tears  are  not  for  eyes 
That  rather  need  the  lightning,  which  can  pierce 
Through  barred  gates  and  triple  walls,  to  smite 
Crime,  where  it  cowers  in  secret !  —  The  Despatch  ! 
Set  every  spy  to  work  ;  —  the  niorrow's  sun 
Must  see  that  written  treason  in  your  hands, 
Or  rise  upon  your  ruin. 

aaCHELIEU. 

Ay  —  and  close 

*  Like  Cromwell  and  Rienzi,  Ridielieii  appears  to  Iiave  been 
easily  moved  to  tears.  The  lineen  Mother,  who  |iut  the  hardest 
interpretation  on  that  liiiinane  weakness,  which  is  natural  with 
very  excitahle  teniperanients,  said  that  "  II  ])leiirait  qiiand  il 
voulait."  I  may  add.  to  those  who  may  he  inclined  to  iniafrino 
that  Richelieu  appears  in  parts  of  this  scene  too  dejected  for  con- 
sistency with  so  imperious  a  character  that  it  is  recorded  of  him 
that  "(|iiand  ses  affaires  ne  reussissoient  pas,  il  se  iroiivoit  aliaitu 
et  epoiivante,  et  quand  il  obtenoit  co  qii'il  souhaitoit,  il  etoit  lior  et 
insultant." 

15 


226  RICHELIEU  : 

Upon  my  corpse  !  —  I  am  not  made  to  live  — 
Friends,  glory,  France,  all  reft  from  me  ;  —  my  star 
Like  some  vain  holiday  mimicry  of  fire. 
Piercing  imperial  heaven,  and  falling  down, 
Kayless  and  blackened,  to  the  dust  —  a  thing 
For  all  men's  feet  to  trample  !      Yea  !  —  to-morrow 
Triumph   or   death !     Look   up,   child !  —  Lead    us, 

Joseph. 
[As  they  are  going  out,  enter  Bakadas  aiul  De  Beringhen. 

BARADAS. 

My  Lord,  the  King  cannot  believe  your  Eminence 
So  far  forgets  your  duty,  and  his  greatness, 
As  to  resist  his  mandate  !     Pray  you,  Madam, 
Obey  the  King  —  no  cause  for  fear ! 

JULIE. 

My  father ! 

RICHELIEU. 


She  shall  not  stir  ! 


An  orphan  ■ 


BAKADAS. 

You  are  not  of  her  kindred  • 


RICHELIEU. 

And  her  country  is  her  mother ! 

BARADAS. 

The  country  is  the  King ! 

RICHELIEU. 

Ay,  is  it  so  ?  — 
Then  wakes  the  power  which  in  the  age  of  iron 
Burst  forth  to  curb  the  great,  and  raise  the  low. 
Mark,  where  she  stands  !  —  around  her  form  I  draw 
The  awful  circle  of  our  solemn  Church ! 


Olt,    THE    COXSPIRACY.  227 

Set  but  a  foot  within  that  holy  ground, 

And  on  thy  licad  —  yea,  though  it  wore  a  crown  — 

I  hiunch  the  curse  of  Rome  ! 

BAEADAS. 

I  dare  not  brave  you  ! 
I  do  but  speak  the  orders  of  my  King. 
Tlie  Church,  your  rank,  power,  very  word,  my  Lord, 
Suffice  you  for  resistance  :  —  blame  yourself, 
If  it  should  cost  you  power ! 

RICHELIEU. 

That  mij  stake.  —  Ah  ! 
Dark  gamester  !  ivliat  in  thine  f     Look  to  it  well !  — 
Lose  not  a  trick.  —  By  this  same  hour  to-morrow 
Thou  shalt  have  Fi-ance,  or  I  thj-  head  ! 

BAKADAs  {aside  to  De  Beuingiien). 

lie  cannot 
Have  the  Despatch  V 

DE    HEiaNGHEN. 

Jso :  were  it  so,  your  stake 
"\Yei-e  lost  already. 

josEiMi  {aside.) 
Patience  is  your  game  : 
Reflect,  you  have  not  the  Despatch  ! 

KICHELIEU. 

O  monk ! 
Leave  patience  to  the  saints  —  for  I  am  human  ! 
Did  not  thy  father  die  for  France,  poor  orphan  V 
And  now  they  say  thou  hast  710  fatlier  !  —  Fie  ! 
Art  thou  not  pure  and  good  ?  —  if  so,  thou  art 
A  part  of  that  —  the  Beautiful,  the  Sacred  — 
Whicii,  in  all  climes,  men  that  have  hearts  adore, 
By  the  great  title  of  their  mother  country  ! 


228  RICHKLIEU  : 

BARAUAS  (aside). 
He  wanders ! 

EICHF.LIEU. 

So  cling  close  vnito  my  breast, 
Here  where  thou  drooji'st  lies  France  !     I  am  veiy 

feeble  — 
Of  little  use  it  seems  to  either  now. 
Well,  well  —  we  will  go  home. 

BAKADAS. 

In  sooth,  my  Lord, 
You  do  need  rest  —  the  burdens  of  the  State 
O'ertask  your  health ! 

EiCHELiEU  (to  Joseph). 

I  'm  patient,  see  ! 
BAKADAS  {aside). 

His  mind 
And  life  are  breaking  fast ! 

iuchelieu  {overhearing  him). 

Irreverent  I'ibald ! 
If  so,  beware  the  foiling  ruins  !     Hark  ! 
I  tell  thee,  scorner  of  these  whitening  hairs, 
When  this  snow  melteth  there  shall  come  a  flood  ! 
Avaunt !  my  name  is  liichelieu  — I  defy  thee ! 
Walk  blindfold  on ;  behind  thee  stalks  the  headsman. 
Ha!  ha!  —  how  pale  he  is!     Heaven  save  my  coun- 
try !  [Fidls  hack  in  Joseph's  rtrms. 
[Baradas  exit.follotred  by  De  Beuixghen,  betraijing 
his  exultation  by  his  (/esttires. 


OR,    THE   CONSPIRACY.  229 

ACT    V. 

FOURTH   DAY. 

ScKNE  I. —  The  Bitstile  —  a   Corridor;  in  the   baclcgroimd 
the  door  of  one  of  the  condemned  cells. 

Enter  Joseph  and  Gaoler. 

GAOLEK. 

Stay,  father,  I  will  call  the  governor. 

[Exit  Gaoler. 
JOSEPH. 
lie  has  it  then  — this  Hiiguet ;  —  so  we  learn 
From  Fran(,-ois.  —  Humph  !     Now  if  I  can  btit  gain 
One  moment's  access,  all  is  ours  !     The  Cardinal 
Trembles  'tween  life  and  death.     His  life  is  power ; 
Smite  one  —  slay  both!     No  ^sculapian  drugs, 
By  learned  quacks  baptized  with  Latin  jargon, 
E'er  bore  the  healing  which  that  scrap  of  parchment 
Will  medicine  to  Ambition's  flagging  heart. 
France  shall  be  saved  —  and  Joseph  be  a  bishop. 

Enter  Governor  a7id  Joseph. 

GOVERNOIl. 

Father,  you  wish  to  see  the  prisoners  Huguet 
And  the  young  knight  De  Mauprat  ? 

JOSEPH. 

So  my  oflice, 
And  the  Lord  Cardinal's  order,  warrant,  son  ! 

GOVERNOR. 

Father,  it  caimot  be  :  Count  Baradas 

H:is  summoned  to  the  Louvre  Sieur  de  Mauprat. 


230  KicnF.LiEu: 

JOSEPH. 

"Well,  well !     But  Huguet  — 

GOVERNOR. 

Dies  at  noon. 

JOSEPH. 

At  noon ! 
No  moment  to  delay  the  pious  rites 
Which    fit   the    soul    for   death.     Quick  —  quick  — 
admit  me  ! 

GOVERNOR. 

You  cannot  enter,  monk  !     Such  are  my  orders  ! 

JOSEPH. 

Orders,  vain  man  !  — -  the  Cardinal  still  is  Ministei*. 
His  orders  crush  all  others ! 

GOVERNOR  [Uft'tng  his  hat). 

Save  his  King's! 
See,  monk,  the  royal  sign  and  seal  affixed 
To  the  Count's  mandate.     None  may  have  access 
To  either  prisoner,  Huguet  or  De  Mauprat, 
Not  even  a  priest,  without  the  special  passport 
Of  Count  de  Baradas.     I  '11  hear  no  more  ! 

JOSEPH. 

Just  Heaven  I  and  are  we  baffled  thus  ?     Despair  ! ! 
Think  on  the  Cardinal's  power  —  beware  his  anger. 

GOVERNOR. 

I  '11  not  be  menaced,  Priest !     Besides,  the  Cardinal 
Is  dying  and  disgraced  —  all  Paris  knows  it. 
You  hear  the  pi'isoner's  knell ! 

[Bell  lolls. 

JOSEPH. 

I  do  beseech  you  — . 


OR,   THK   CONSPIUACY.  231 

The  Cardinal  is  not  dying.     But  one  moment, 
And  —  hist !  —  five  thousand  pistoles  !  — 

GOVEKXOK. 

IIow  !  a  bribe  — 
And  to  a  soldier,  gray  with  years  of  honor  ! 
Begone !  — 

josKrir. 
Ten  thousand  —  twenty  !  — 

GOVKKNOK. 

(Jaoler  !    put 
This  monk  without  our  walls. 

JOSKPH. 

By  those  gray  haii*s  — 
Yea,  by  this  badge   (^loncMng  the  cross  of  St.  Louts 
worn  hij  the  Governor)  — 

The  guerdon  of  your  valor  — 
By  all  your  toils  —  hard  days  and  sleejjless  niglits  — • 
Borne  in  your  country's  service,  noble  son  — 
Let  me  but  see  the  prisoner  !  — 

GOVKHXOK. 

No! 

JOSKl'lI. 

He  hath 

Secrets  of  state  —  papers  in  which 

GoviiUNOR  i^intcrruptinrj). 

I  know  — 
Such  was  his  message  to  Count  Baradas  : 
Doubtless  the  Count  will  see  to  it ! 

JOSEPH. 

The  Count ! 
Then  not  a  hope  !  —  You  shall 


232  KICIIELIKU: 

GOVKRNOU. 

Betray  my  trust ! 
Never  —  not  one  word  more.  — You  heard  me,  gaoler ! 

JOSEPH. 

What  can  be  done?  —  ])istraction  ! .  Kichelieu  yet  ! 
JMust  —  what? — I   know    not! — Thouglit,    nerve, 

strength,  forsake  me. 
Dare  you  refuse  the  Church  her  holiest  rights  V  ^ 

COVKIIXOIJ. 

I  refuse  nothing  —  I  obey  my  orders. 

JOSEIMI. 

And  sell  your  country  to  her  parricides ! 
O,  tremble  yet!  —  Richelieu 

COVKIIXOR. 

Begone ! 
josEwr. 

Undone  ! 
[/■h;U  Joav.pu. 

C.OVICKXOR. 

A  most  audacious  shaveling — interdicted 
Above  all  others  by  the  Count. 

GAOLKU. 

I  hojie.  Sir, 
I  shall  not  lose  my  perquisites.     The  Sieur 
])e  ]\Iauprat  will  not  be  reprieved? 

GOVKKNOIt. 

O,  fear  not : 
The  Count's  commands  by  him  who  came  for  ]Mau- 

prat 
Are  to  piepare  headsman  and  axe  by  noon  ; 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  233 

The  Count  ■will  give  j-ou  perquisites  enough  — 
Two  deaths  in  one  day  ! 

GAOI.EK. 

Sir,  may  Heaven  reward  him  ! 
O,  by  the  way,  that  troublesome  young  fellow, 
Vii'ho  calls  himself  the  prisoner  Huguet's  son, 
Is  here  again  —  implores,  weeps,  raves  to  see  him. 

GOVKKNOi;. 

Poor  youth,  I  pity  him ! 

Enter  De  BKniyGUKyj/blloiced  bi/  Francois. 

VK  ISEKIXGUKN  (tO  FUA.NC^OIS). 

Now,  prithee,  friend. 
Let  go  my  cloak ;  you  really  discompose  me. 

ITvANOOIS. 

N05  they  will  drive  me  hence  :  my  father!     Oh  ! 
Lei,  me  but  see  him  once  —  but  once  —  one  moment ! 

T>K  BKitixGiiEN  (to  Govenior). 
Yo'ir  servant,  Mcssirc ;  this  poor  rascal,  Huguet, 
Hai  sent  to  see  the  Count  de  Baradas 
Up^n  state  secrets,  that  afflict  his  conscience. 
The  Count  can't  leave  his  Majesty  an  instant: 
I  avn  his  proxy. 

GOVERNOR. 

The  Count's  word  is  law  I 
Agiin,  young  scapegrace  !     How  com'st  thou  admit- 
ted ? 

I>E   r.ERIXGHEX. 

Oh  !  a  most  filial  fellow  :  Huguet's  son  ! 
I  found  him  whiinjx'ring  in  the  court  below. 
I  i)ray  his  leave  to  say  good-by  to  father, 
Before  that  very  long,  unpleasant  journey, 


234  RICIIKLIEU  : 

Father 's  about  to  take.     Let  Lim  wait  here 
Till  I  return. 

i-'HAN(;ois. 
No ;  take  ine  with  you. 

DK   ISEHINGHKN. 

Nay; 
After  me,  friend  —  the  Public  first! 

GOVP;]tNOR. 

The  Count's 
Commands  are  strict.     No  one  must  visit  Huguet 
^Vithout  his  passport. 

i)E  beiumghex. 
Here  it  is  !     Pshaw  !  nonsense  ! 
I  '11  be  your  surety.     See,  my  Cerberus, 
He  is  no  Hercules ! 

GOVEUNOn. 

Well,  you  're  responsible. 
Stand  there,  friend.     If,  when  you  come  out,  my 

Lord, 
The  youth  slip  in,  't  is  your  fluilt. 

DK    r-EniNGUEN. 

So  it  is ! 
[Exit  ilirouyh  the  door  of  the  cell,  followed  hy  the  Gaoler. 

GOVERNOR. 

Be  calm,  my  lad.     Don't  fret  so.     I  had  once 
A  fither,  too !     I  '11  not  be  hard  upon  you. 
And  so,  stand  close.     1  must  not  see  you  enter: 
You  understand  !     Between  this  innocent  jouth 
And  that  intriguing  monk  there  is,  in  ti-uth, 
A  wide  distinction. 

Reenter  Gaoler. 

Come,  we  '11  go  our  rounds ; 


OR,   THK   CONSrXRACY.  235 

I  '11  give  you  just  one  quartei"  of  an  hour ; 
And  if  my  Lord  leave  first,  make  my  excuse. 
Yet  stay,  the  gallery  's  long  and  dark  :  no  sentry 
Until  he  reach  the  grate  below.     He  'd  best 
Wait  till  I  come.     If  he  should  lose  the  way, 
^Vti  may  not  be  in  call. 

FRANCOIS. 

I  '11  tell  him,  Sir. 
[Exeunt  Governor  and  Gaoler. 
He  's  a  "wise  son  that  knoweth  his  own  father. 
I  've  forged  a  2:)recious  one  !     So  far,  so  well ! 
Alas  !  what  then  ?  this  wretch  hath  sent  to  Baradas  — 
Will  sell  the  scroll  to  ransom  life.     O  Heaven  ! 
On  what  a  thread  hangs  hojie  !      [Listens  at  the  door. 

Loud  words  —  a  cry  ! 
[Looks  tltroucjh  the  keyhole. 
They  struggle  !     Ho  !  —  the  packet !  !  ! 

[  Tries  to  open  the  door. 
Lost !     He  has  it  — 
The  courtier  has  it — Iluguet,  spite  his  chains. 
Grapples  !  —  Avell  done  !     Now  —  now  !   [Drau-s  back. 

Tlie  gallery  's  long  — 
And  this  is  left  us! 

[Drawin;/  his  dngrjer,  mid  standi nt/  behind  the  door.     Re- 
enter Dk  BEKiSGnKX,  with  the  packet. 

Victory  !  —  Yield  it  robber  — 
Yield  it  —  or  die  —  [A  short  strugcjle. 

I)K    liEItl^fUIEN'. 

Olf!  ho!  — there.'  — 
FISAXf'Ols  {(jrcqrpUnrj  xuith  him). 

Deatli  or  honor ! 
[Exeunt  strufjyling. 


236  KicuKLiKU : 


SCENE  ir. 

Tlie  King's  closet  at  the  Louvre.     A  suit  of  rooms  iniyer- 
spettive  at  one  side. 

BaKADAS  a7ld  OULEANS. 
BAItADAS. 

All  smiles  !  the  Cardinal's  swoon  of  yesterday 

Heralds  his  death  to-day.      Could  he  survive, 

It  would  not  be  as  minister — so  great 

The  King's  resentment  at  the  priest's  defiance ! 

All   smiles! — And   yet,    should   this    accursed    De 

]\Iauprat 
Have  given  our  packet  to  another —  'Sdeath  ! 
I  dare  not  think  of  it ! 

OltLKANS. 

You  've  sent  to  search  him  ? 

BAEADAS. 

Sent,  Sir,  to  search  ?  —  that  hireling  hands  may  find 

Upon  him,  naked,  with  its  broken  seal. 

That  scroll,  Avhose  every  word  is  death  !    No  —  No  — 

These  hands  alone  must  clutch  that  awful  secret. 

I  dare  not  leave  the  palace,  night  nor  day, 

"While  Eichelieu  lives  —  his   minions  —  creatures  — 

spies  — 
Not  one  must  reach  the  King ! 

OKI.KAXS. 

What  hast  thou  done  V 

BAKADAS. 

Summoned  De  ISIaupi-at  hither. 

OKLEAXS. 

Could  this  Huguet, 


OR,   THK   CONSPIRACY.  237 

Who  prayed  tliy  presence  with  so  fierce  a  ferA'or, 
Have  thieved  the  scroll  ? 

BAKADAS. 

Huguet  was  housed  with  us, 
The  veiy  moment  we  dismissed  tlie  courier. 
It  cannot  be  !  a  stale  trick  for  reprieve. 
But,  to  make  sure,  I  've  sent  our  trustiest  friend 
To   see   and    sift    him.  —  Hist !  —  here    comes    the. 

King  — 
How  fare  you,  Pire  ? 

Enter  Louis. 
^,ouls. 

In  the  same  mind.     I  have 
Decided  !  —  Yes,  he  would  forbid  your  presence, 
My  brother  —  yours,  my  friend,  —  then  Julie,  too  ! 
Thwarts  —  braves  —  defies  —  {suddenly    turn'ui(j    to 

Bar  ADAS)    We  make  you  minister. 
Gaston,  for  you  —  the  baton  of  our  armies. 
You  love  me,  do  you  not  ? 

OKLKANS. 

O,  love  you,  Sire  ? 
{Aside.)  Never  so  much  as  now. 

BAHADA.S. 

]\Iay  I  deserve 
Your  trust  {aside)  viiitil  you  sign  your  abdication  ! 
My  liege,  but  one  way  left  to  daunt  De  INIauprat, 
And  Julie  to  divorce.  —  We  must  prepare 
The  death-writ ;  what,  though  signed  and   sealed  ? 

we  can 
Withhold  the  enforcement. 


238  RICHELIEU  : 

LOUIS. 

All,  you  may  prepare  it ; 
We  need  not  urge  it  to  efl'eot. 

BAIIADAS. 

Exactly  ! 
No  haste,    my    liege.     (Loolinr/   at   his    zcatch,    and 
aside.^     He  may  live  one  hour  longer. 
F.nler  Courtier. 

COURTIKH. 

The  Lady  Julie,  Sire,  implores  an  audience. 

LOUIS. 

Aha  !  repentant  of  her  folly  !  —  Well, 
Admit  her. 

BARADAS. 

Sire,  she  comes  for  Mauprat's  pardon, 
And  the  conditions 

LOUIS. 

You  are  minister  — 
We  leave  to  you  our  answer. 

[As  Julie  enters,  ike  Captain  of  the  Archers  %  another 
door,  and  wMsj}ei's  Baradas. 

CArTAIN. 

The  Chevalier 
De  Mauprat  waits  below. 

BAitAUAS  (aside). 

Now  the  despatch  ! 

[Exit  icilh  Oflicer. 
Enter  Julik. 
jULu:. 
]\Iy  liege,  you  sent  for  me.     I  come  where  Cirief 
Shoidd  come  when  guiltless,  while  the  name  of  King 


OK,    THE   COXSrilJACY.  239 

Is  holy  on  the  earth  !     Here,  at  the  feet 
Of  Power,  I  kneel  for  mercy. 

LOUIS. 

INIerey,  Julie, 
Is  an  affair  of  state.     The  Cardinal  should 
In  this  be  your  interpreter. 

JULIE. 

Alas ! 
I  know  not  if  that  mighty  spirit  now 
Stoop  to  the  things  of  earth.     Nay,  while  I  speak, 
Perchance  he  hears  the  orphan  by  the  throne 
AMiere  Kings  themselves  need  pardon ;  O  my  liege, 
Be  father  to  the  fatherless  ;  in  you 
Dwells  my  last  hope  ! 

Enter  Bakadas. 
BAEADAS  [aside). 

He  has  not  the  despatch  ; 
Smiled  while  we  searched,  and  braves  me.  —  O'l ! 
LOUIS  ((jenthj). 

What  wouldst  tliou  ? 

JULIK. 

A  single  life.  —  You  reign  o'er  millions.  —  A\^hat 
Is  one  man's  life  to  you  '?  —  and  yet  to  me 
'T  is  France  —  't  is  earth  —  'tis  everything  !  —  a  life, 
A  human  life  —  ni}'  husband's. 

LOUIS  (aside). 

Speak  to  her, 
1  am  not  marble,  —  give  her  hojie  —  or  — 

BAKADAS. 

Madam, 


240  RICHELIKU: 

Vex  not  your  King,  wliose  heart,  too  soft  for  justice. 
Leaves  to  liis  ministers  that  solemn  charge. 

[Loi.'is  ivalks  up  the  sicuje. 

JULIK. 


You  were  his  friend. 


I'.AUADAS. 

1  was  before  I  loved  thee. 


Loved  me  ! 

BA15ADAS. 

Hush,  Julie  :  (!Ouldst  thou  misinterpret 
My  acts,  thoughts,  motives,  nay,  my  very  words, 
Here  —  in  this  palace  ? 

JULIE. 

Now  I  know  I  'm  mad  ; 
Even  that  memory  failed  me. 

ISAUADAS. 

I  am  young, 
^^' ell-born  and  brave  as  ^lauprat :  —  for  thy  sake 
I  peril  what  he  has  not  —  fortune  —  power  ; 
All  to  great  souls  most  dazzling.     I  alone 
Can  save  thee  from  yon  tyrant,  now  my  puppet ! 
B(;  mine ;  annul  the  mockery  of  this  marriage, 
And  on  the  day  I  clasp  thee  to  my  breast 
Dc  Mauprat  shall  be  free. 

JULIK. 

Thou  durst  not  speak 
Thus  in  Tiix  ear  (^pointing  to  Louis).     Thou  double 

traitor  !  —  tremble  1 
I  will  unuiask  thee. 

BARADAS. 

I  will  say  thou  ravest. 


OR,   THE   CONSPIKACY.  241 

And  see  this  scroll !  its  letters  shall  be  blood  ! 
Go  to  the  King,  count  with  me  word  for  word ; 
And  while  you  pray  the  life  —  I  write  the  sentence  ! 

JULIE. 

Stay,  stay  !  (rushing  to  the  King.)     You  have  a  kind 

and  princely  heart, 
Though  sometimes  it  is  silent :  you  were  born 
To  power  —  it  has  not  flushed  you  into  madness, 
As  it  doth  meaner  men.     Banish  my  husband  — 
Dissolve  our  marriage  —  cast  me  to  that  grave 
Of  human  ties,  where  hearts  congeal  to  ice, 
In  the  dark  convent's  everlasting  winter  — 
(Sui'cly  enough  for  justice  —  hate  —  revenge) — 
But  spare  this  life,  thus  lonely,  scathed,  and  bloom- 
less; 
And  when  thou  stand'st  for  judgment  on  thine  own, 
The  deed  shall  shine  beside  thee  as  an  angel. 

LOUIS  {much  ajf'ecled). 
Go,  go,  to  Baradas  :  annul  thy  marriage. 

And 

JULIK  {anxiouslij,  ami  walchhif/  his  countenance). 
Be  his  bride ! 

LOUIS. 

A  form,  a  mere  decorum  ; 
Thou  know'st  1  love  thee. 

JULTK. 

O  thou  sea  of  shame. 
And  not  one  star  ! 

[  The  Ktxg  (jocs  vp  the  st(if/c,  and  passes  thrmi<jh  the 
suit  of  rooms  at  the  side,  in  evident  emotion. 
16 


242  RICHELIEU: 

BARADAS. 

Well,  thy  election,  Julie  ; 
This  hand  —  his  grave  ! 

JfLIE. 

His  grave  !  and  I  — 

BARADAS. 

Can  save  him.  — 
Swear  to  be  mine. 

JULI?:. 
That  were  a  bitterer  death  ! 
Avaunt,  thou  tempter !     I  did  ask  his  life 
A  boon,  and  not  the  barter  of  dishonor. 
The  heart  can  break,  and  scorn  you  :  wreak  your 

malice  ; 
Adrien  and  I  will  leave  you  this  sad  eai-th. 
And  pass  together  hand  in  hand  to  Heaven! 

BAEAUAS. 

You  have  decided. 

[  Withdraws  to  the  side  sce7}e  for  a  moment,  and  returns. 
Listen  to  me,  Lady  ; 
I  am  no  base  intriguer.     I  adored  thee 
From  the  first  glance  of  those  inspiring  eyes ; 
With  thee  entwined  ambition,  hope,  the  future. 
/  ic'dl  not  lose  thee  !     I  can  place  thee  nearest  — 
Ay,  to  the  throne  —  nay,  on  the  throne,  perchance ; 
]\Iy  star  is  at  its  zenith.     Look  upon  me  ; 
Hast  thou  decided  ? 

JULIK. 

No,  no  ;  you  can  see 
How  weak  I  am :  be  human,  Sir  —  one  moment. 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  243 

BAIJADAS  {siamjuufj  his  foot,  Dk  JlAuntAT  appears  at  the 
side  of  the  staye  (juarded). 

Behold  thy  husband  !  —  Shall  he  pass  to  death, 
And  know  thou  couldst  have  saved  him  ? 
jULii:. 

Adrien,  speak  1 
But  say  you  wish  to  lire  !  —  if  not,  your  wife, 
Your  slave,  —  do  with  me  as  jou  will. 

DE   MAUl'ItAT. 

Once  more !  — 
AVhy  this  is  mercy,  Count !     Oh,  think,  my  Julie, 
Life,  at  the  best,  is  short,  —  but  love  immortal ! 

liARADAs  (<((/.(«<;  Julie's  hand). 
Ah,  loveliest  — 

JULIE. 

Go,  that  touch  has  made  me  iron. 
We  have  decided  —  death  ! 

BARADAS    {to   De   JIaUPRAT). 

Now  say  to  whom 
Thou  gavest  the  packet,  and  thou  yet  shalt  live. 

I)E   MAUI'RAT. 

1  '11  toll  thee  nothing  ! 

liARADAS. 

Hark,  —  the  rack ! 

1>E   MAUPRAT. 

Thy  penance 
For   ever,  wi-ctch  !  —  What   rack   is   like  the   con- 
science ? 

JULIK. 

I  shall  be  with  thee  soon. 


244  RicuKLiEU : 

BARADAs  {(/iving  the  writ  to  the  Officer). 

Hence,  to  the  headsman ! 

[The  doors  are  thi-oicn  open.     The  Yi\i\^^\eY  announces 
"  His  EnKiience  tlie  Cardinal  Due  de  Richelieu." 
Enter  Eichelieu,  attended  by  Gentlemen,  Pages,  tfc,  jjale, 
feeble,  and  leaning  on  Joseph,  followed  by  three  Secreta- 
ries of  State,  attended  by  Sub-Secretaries  loith  pa2>ers,  tfc. 

JULIE  (rushing  to  Richelieu). 
You  live  —  yon  live  —  and  Adrien  shall  not  die  ! 

lilCHELlEU. 

Not  if  an  old  man's  prayers,  himself  near  death, 
Can  aught  avail  thee,  daughter  !     Count,  you  now 
Hold  what  I  held  on  earth  :  —  one  boon,  my  Lord, 
This  soldier's  life. 

hai'.adas. 
The  stake,  —  my  head  !  —  you  said  it. 
I  cannot  lose  one  trick.  —  llemove  your  jjrisoner. 

JULIE. 

No!  — No!  — 

Enter  Louis  from  the  rooms  beyond. 

r.iciiELiEU  [to  Officer). 
Stay,  Sir,  one  moment.     ]\Iy  good  liege, 
Your  worn-out  servant,  willing.  Sire,  to  spare  you 
Some  pain  of  conscience,  would  forestall  }Our  wishes. 
I  do  resign  my  office. 

BE   MAUPltAT. 

You! 

JULIE. 

All's  over! 

KICHELIEU. 

My  end  draws  near.     These  sad  ones.  Sire,  I  love 
them. 


on,    THK   CONSPIUACY.  245 

I  do  not  ask  his  life ;  but  sufTer  justice 
To  halt,  until  I  can  dismiss  his  soul, 
Charged  with  an  old  man's  blessing. 

LOUIS. 

Surely  ! 
i!Ai:adas. 

Sire 

LOUIS. 

Silence  —  small  favor  to  a  dying  servant. 

ItlCIIEI-lEU. 

You  would  consign  jour  armies  to  the  baton 

Of  your  most  honored  brother.     Sire,  so  be  it! 

Your  minister,  the  Count  de  Baradas ; 

A  most  sagacious  choice  !  —  Your  Secretaries 

Of  State  attend  me.  Sire,  to  render  up 

The  ledgers  of  a  realm.  —  I  do  beseech  you, 

Suffer  these  noble  gentlemen  to  learn 

The  nature  of  the  glorious  task  that  waits  them, 

Here,  in  my  presence. 

LOUIS. 

You  say  well,  my  Lord. 
[  To  Secretaries,  as  he  seals  himself. 
Approach,  Sirs. 

kichelieu. 
I  —  I  —  faint !  —  air  —  air ! 

[JosEiMi  and  n  Gentleman   assist  him  lo  a  saj'a,  placed 
beneath  a  icindow. 

1  (liank  you  — 
Draw  near,  my  children. 

UAItADAS. 

Hc!  's  too  weak  to  (piestion. 
Nay,  scarce  to  speak ;  all 's  safe. 


246  RICHELIEU ; 


SCENE  III. 

Manent  Eichet.ieu,  JIaupp.at,  and  Julik,  the  last  Jcneel- 
ing  beside  the  Cardinal;  the  Officer  of  the  Guard  behind 
Maufkat.  Joseph  near  Richelieu,  zcnichint/  the  King. 
Louis.  Baradas  at  the  back  of  the  King's  chair,  anxious 
and  disturbed.  Oi;leans  at  a  greater  distance,  careless 
and  triumphant.  The  Secretaries.  As  each  Secretary  ad~ 
vances  in  his  turn,  he  takes  the  porlfuUos  from  the  Sub- 
Secretaries. 

FIRST   SECRETARY. 

The  affiiirs  of  Portugal, 
Most  urgent,  Sire  :  one  short  month  since  the  Duke 
Braganza  was  a  rebel. 

LOUIS. 

And  is  still ! 

first    SECRETAItY. 

No,  Sire,  he  has  succeeded  !     He  is  now 
Crowned  King  of  Portugal  —  craves  instant  succor 
Against  the  arms  of  Spain. 

LOUIS. 

We  will  not  grant  it 
Against  his  la^\'ful  king.     Eli,  Count  ? 

BAItADAS. 

No,  Sire. 

FIRST   SECRETARY. 

But  Spain  's  your  deadliest  foe  :  whatever 

Can  weaken  Spain   must    strengthen    France.    The 

Cardinal 
Would    send   the    succors  :  —  (^solemnly)  —  balance, 

Sire,  of  Europe  ! 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  247 

LOUIS. 

The  Cardinal !  —  balance  !  —  We  '11  consider.  —  Kh, 
Count  V 

HARADAS. 

Yes,  Sire  ;  —  fall  back. 

FIRST   SECKETAUY. 

But 

BAKADAS. 

Oh  !  fall  back,  Sir. 

JOSEPH. 

Humph ! 

SECOND    SECRETARY. 

The  affairs  of  England,  Sire,  most  urgent :  Charles 

The  First  has  lost  a  battle  that  decides 

One  half  his  realm,  —  craves  moneys.  Sire,  and  succor. 

LOUIS. 

He  shall  have  both.  —  Eh,  Baradas  ? 

BARAUAS. 

Yes,  Sire;  , 
(Oh  that  despatch  !  —  my  veins  are  fire  !) 

RiCHELiicu  {feebly,  but  with  great  distinctness'). 

]\Iy  liege  — = 
Forgive  me  —  Charles's  cause  is  lost !     A  man, 
Named  Cromwell,  risen,  —  a  great  man  !  —  your  suc- 
cor 
AVould  fail  —  your  loans  be  squandered !  —  Pause  — 
reflect.* 

LOUIS. 

Reflect.  —  Eh,  Baradas  ? 

*  See  in  "  Cinq  Mars,"  Vol.  V.,  tlie  striking  and  brilliant  cliap- 
ter  from  which  the  interlude  of  tlic  Secretaries  is  borrowed. 


248  RICHKMEU  : 

BARADAS. 

Reflect,  Sire. 

JOSEPH. 

Humph ! 
LOUIS  (aside). 
I  half  repent !  —  No  successor  to  Richelieu  !  — 
Round  me  thrones  totter !  —  dynasties  dissolve  !  — 
The  soil  he  guards  alone  escapes  the  earthquake  ! 

JOSEl'H. 

Our  star  not  yet  eclipsed  !  —  you  mark  the  King  ? 
Oil !  had  we  the  despatch  ! 

KICHELIEU. 

Ah!  Joseph!  — Child  — 
Would  I  could  help  thee  ! 

Enter  Gentleman,  whispers  Joseph,  iclio  exit  hastily. 
BAi{ADAs(to  Secretary). 
Sir,  fall  back. 

SECOND   SECKETARY. 

But 

BARADAS. 

Pshaw,  Sir  ! 
THIRD  SECRETARY  {mysteviouslt/). 
The  iiccrct  correspondence,  Sire,  most  urgent,  — 
Accounts  of  spies  — deserters  —  heretics  — 
Assassins  —  poisoners  —  schemes  against  yourself !  — 

i.ouis. 
Mijself!  —  most  urgent !  —  {looking  on  the  documents.') 
Re-enter  Joseph  with  Francois,  whose  pourpoint  is  streaked 
with   blood.     FRAN901S  passes   behind  the  Cardinal's   At- 
tendants, and,  sheltered  by  them  from  the  si(jhl  q/"  Bara- 
DAS,  cfc, falls  at  RiCHELiEU'syec<. 


OR,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  249 

FRANCOIS. 

O  my  Lord  ! 

EICIIELIEU. 

Thou  art  bleeding ! 

FKAN(;'OIS. 

A  scratch  —  I  have  not  foilod [Gkes  thej)acket. 

KICIIEI.IEU. 

Hush !  — 

[Looking  at  the  contents. 

THIRD    SECRETARY  (to  King). 

Sire,  the  Spaniards 
Have  reinforced  their  army  on  the  frontiers. 
The  Due  de  Bouillon . 

RICHELIEU. 

Hold  !  —  In  this  department  — 
A  paper  —  here,  Sire,  —  read  yourself — then  take 
The  Count's  advice  in  't. 

Enter  De  Beringhen  hastily,  and  draws  aside  Baradas. 
[Richelieu,  to  Secretary,  giving  an  open parclinient. 
BARADAS  {bursting  from  De  Berixghen). 

"What !  and  reft  it  from  thee ! 
Ha!  — hold! 

JOSEPH. 

Fall  back,  son,  it  is  your  turn  now ! 

BARADAS. 

Death  !  —  the  despatch ! 

LOUIS  (re(tding). 
To  Bouillon — and  signed  Orleans! 
Baradas,  too  !  —  league  with  our  foes  of  Spain  ! — 
Lead  our  Italian  armies  —  what !  to  Paris  !  — 
Capture  the  King  —  my  health  require  repose  — 


250  RICHELIEU : 

Make  me  subscribe  my  proper  abdication  — 
Orleans,  my  brother,  Regent !  —  Saints  of  Heaven  ! 
These  are  the  men  I  loved  ! 

[Bahapas  drmcs, — attempts  to  msh  out^  —  is  arrested. 
OiSLKAXS,  endeavoring  to  escape  mure  quicLly,  meets 
Joseph's  eye,  and  stops  short. 

[Richelieu  yalls  back. 

JOSEPH. 

See  to  the  Cardinal  I 

BARADAS. 

He 's  dying  !  —  and  I  shall  yet  dupe  the  King  ! 

LOUIS  {rushing  to  Richelieu}. 
Richelieu  1  —  Lord  Cardinal !  —  't  is  7  resign  !  — 
Reign  thou  ! 

JOSEPH. 

Alas  !  too  late  !  —  he  faints ! 

LOUIS. 

Reign,  Richelieu  ? 
RICHELIEU  ifeeblij). 
WItli  absolute  power  V 

LOUIS. 

IMost  absolute  !  —  Oh  !  live  ! 
If  not  for  me  —  for  France  ! 

RICHELIEU. 

France ! 

LOUIS. 

O  this  treason  !  — 
The  army  —  Orleans  —  Bouillon  —  Heavens  ! —  the 

Spaniard  !  — 
Where  will  they  be  next  week  V 


OR,    THE    CONSPIRACY.  251 

RICHELIEU  {starting  up). 

There,  —  at  my  feet ! 
[  To  First  and  Second  Secretary. 
Ere  the  clock  strike  !    the  Envoys  have  their  answer  ! 

[  To  Third  Secretary-,  icith  a  rinfj. 
This  to  De  Chavigny  —  he  knows  the  rest  — 
No  need  of  parchment  here  —  he  must  not  halt 
For  sleep  —  for  food.  —  In  mij  name,  —  mine  !  —  he 

will 
Arrest  the  Due  de  Bouillon  at  the  head 
Of  his  army  !  —  Ho  thei'C  !  Count  de  Baradas, 
Thou  hast  lost  the  stake  !  —  Away  with  him  I  * 

\_As  the  Guards  opera  the  foldinfj-dnors,  a  view  of  the 
anteroom  beyond,  lined  with  Courtiers.  Baradas 
passes  tki'ouyh  the  line. 

Ha!  — ha!  — 
[Sna^f/^^"?^5^    De   Mauprat's    death-ioarrant  from   the 
Officer. 

See  here  De  Mauprat's  death-writ,  Julie  !  — 
Parchment  for   battledores  !  — Embrace   jour   hus- 
band !  — 
At  last  the  old  man  blesses  you ! 

JL'LIE. 

Ojoy! 
You  are  saved ;  you  live  —  I  hold  you  in  these  arms. 

*  The  passion  of  the  drama  requires  this  catastrophe  for  Bara- 
das. He  however  survived  liis  disgrace,  thouf;)i  stripped  of  all 
Ills  rapidly-acquired  fortunes  ;  and  the  daring  tliat  belonged  to  his 
character  won  him  distinction  in  foreign  service.  IIo  returned  to 
France  after  Riclielieu's  death,  but  never  rejiained  the  same  court 
influence.  He  had  taken  the  vows  of  a  ICni;;lit  of  Malta,  and 
Louis  made  him  a  Prior ! 


252  RiciiELiKU : 

MAUPr.AT, 

Never  to  part  — 

JULIE. 

No  —  never,  Adrien  —  never ! 
LOUIS  {peevishly). 
One  moment  makes  a  startling  cure,  Lord  Cardinal.* 

RICHELIEU. 

Ay,  Sire,  for  in  one  moment  there  did  pass 
Into  this  withered  frame  the  might  of  France  !  — 
My  own  dear  France  —  I  have  thee  yet  —  I  have 

saved  thee ! 
I  clasp  thee  still !  —  it  was  thy  voice  that  called  me 
Back   from   the    tomb !  —  AVhat    mistress   like   our 

country  ! 

LOUIS. 

For  Mauprat's  pardon  —  well !    But  Julie,  —  Riche- 
lieu, 
Leave  me  one  thing  to  love  !  — 

KICIfELIEU. 

A  subject's  luxurj' ! 
Yet,  if  you  must  love  something,  Sire,  —  love  me  ! 

LOUIS  (smiling  in  spite  of  liimsclf). 
Fair  proxy  for  a  young  fresh  Demoiselle  ! 

*  The  sudden  resuscitation  of  Richelieu  (not  to  strain  too  much 
on  the  real  passion  which  supports  him  in  this  scene)  is  in  con- 
formance with  tlie  more  dissimulating  part  of  his  character.  The 
extraordinary  mobility  of  liis  countenance  (latterly  so  deatiilike, 
save  when  the  mind  spoke  in  the  features)  always  lent  itself  to 
stage  etTect  of  this  nature.  The  Queen  Mother  said  of  him,  that 
she  had  seen  him  one  moment  so  feeble,  cast  down,  and  "  semi- 
mort,"  that  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  ghost —  and 
the  next  moment  he  would  start  up  full  of  animation,  energy,  and 
iife. 


OK,   THE   CONSPIRACY.  253 

IIICIIKLIKU. 

Your  heart  speaks  for  my  clients :  —  Kneel,  my  chil- 
dren, 
And  thank  your  King.  — 

JULIE. 

Ah,  tears  like  these,  my  liege, 
Are  dews  that  mount  to  Heaven. 

LOUIS. 

Rise  —  rise  —  be  happy. 
[Richelieu  beckons  to  De  Bekinghen. 
DE  beuinghen  (faltcrinr/ly). 
My  Lord  —  you  are  —  most  —  happily  —  recovered. 

RICHELIEU. 

But  you  are  jiale,  dear  Beringhen  :  —  this  air 

Suits  not  your  delicate  frame  —  I  long  have  thought 

so:  — 
Sleep  not  another  night  in  Paris  :  —  Go,  — 
Or  else  your  precious  life  may  be  in  danger. 
Leave  France,  dear  Beringhen ! 

DE   BEUIXGHEN. 

I  shall  have  time. 
More  than  I  asked  for,  —  to  discuss  the  pate. 

[Exit    De    BEItlNGHKN. 
ItlCHELIEU  {to    OULEANS). 

For  you,  repentance  —  absence  —  and  confession  ! 

[  To  FltANfOIS. 

Never  say  fail  again.  —  Brave  boy ! 

[To  Joseph. 
He'll  be— 
A  bishop  first 

josErit. 
Ah,  Cardinal — - 


254  RICHELIEU. 

KICHEI.IEU. 

Ah,  Joseph ! 
[  To  Louis  —  as  De  !Mauprat  and  Julie  converse  apart. 
See,  my  liege —  see  through  plots  and  counterplots — 
Through   gain   and   loss  —  through   glory    and    dis- 
grace — 
Along  the  plains,  where  passionate  Discord  rears 
Eternal  Babel  —  still  the  holy  stream 
Of  human  happiness  glides  on ! 

LOUIS. 

And  must  we 
Thank  for  tliat  also  our  prime  Minister  ? 

mCHELIEU. 

No  —  let  us  own  it :  —  there  is  OxE  above 
Sways  the  harmonious  mystery  of  the  world, 
Ev'n  better  than  prime  ministers  !  — 

Alas! 
Our  glories  float  between  the  earth  and  heaven 
Like  clouds  which  seem  pavilions  of  the  sun, 
And  are  the  playthings  of  the  casual  wind ; 
Still,  like  the  cloud  which  drops  on  unseen  crags 
The  dews  the  wild-flower  feeds  on,  our  ambition 
May  from  its  airy  height  drop  gladness  down 
On  unsusjiected  virtue  ;  —  and  the  flower 
]\Iay  bless  the  cloud  when  it  hath  passed  away  !  * 


*  Tlie  image  and  tlie  sentiment  in  the  concluding  lines  are  bor- 
rowed from  a  passage  in  one  of  the  writings  attributed  to  tho 
Cardinal. 


POEMS. 


EVA. 

A  TKUE   STORY. 


THE   MAIDEN  S   HOME. 

A  COTTAGE  in  a  peaceful  vale ; 

A  jasmine  round  the  door ; 
A  liill  to  shelter  from  the  gale ; 

A  silver  brook  before. 
O,  sweet  the  jasmine's  buds  of  snow, 

In  mornings  soft  with  May  ! 
O,  silver-clear  the  waves  that  flow, 

Reflecting  heaven,  away ! 
A  sweeter  bloom  to  Eva's  youth 

Rejoicing  Nature  gave  ; 
And  hea\'en  was  mirrored  in  her  truth 

More  clear  than  on  the  wave 
Oft  to  that  lone,  sequestered  place 

My  boyish  steps  would  roam, 
There  was  a  look  in  Eva's  face 

Tiiat  seemed  a  smile  of  home. 
And  oft  I  paused  to  hear  at  noon 

A  voice  that  sang  for  glee  : 
Or  mark  the  white  neck  glancing  down,  ■ 

The  book  upon  the  knee  — 
17 


THE   IDIOT   BOY. 

Who  stands  between  thee  and  the  sun  ?  — 
A  cloud  himself, — the  Wandering  One! 
A  vacant  wonder  in  the  eyes,  — 

The  mind,  a  blank,  unwritten  scroll ;  — 
The  light  Avas  in  the  laughing  skies. 

And  darkness  in  the  Idiot's  soul. 
He  touched  the  book  upon  her  knee  — 

He  looked  into  her  gentle  face  — 
"  Thou  dost  not  tremble,  maid,  to  see 

Poor  Arthur  by  thy  dwelling-place. 
I  know  not  why,  but  where  I  pass 

The  aged  turn  away  ; 
And  if  my  shadow  vex  the  grass, 

The  children  cease  from  play. 
Mtj  only  playmates  are  the  wind, 

The  blossom  on  the  bough  ! 
Why  are  thy  looks  so  soft  and  kind  ? 

Thou  dost  not  tremble  —  thou  ! " 
Though  none  were  by,  she  trembled  not  — 

Too  meek  to  wound,  too  good  to  fear  him : 
And,  as  he  lingered  on  the  spot. 

She  hid  the  tears  that  gushed  to  hear  him. 

III. 
PRAYER  OF  Arthur's  father. 

"  O  Maiden  ! "  —  thus  the  sire  begun  — 
"  O  Maiden,  do  not  scorn  my  prayer : 


EVA.  259 

I  have  a  hapless  idiot-son, 

To  all  my  •wealth  the  only  heir : 
And  day  by  day,  in  shine  or  rain, 
He  wanders  forth,  to  gaze  again 
Upon  those  ej'es,  Avhose  looks  of  kindness 
Still  haunt  him  in  his  world  of  blindness ; 
A  sunless  world  !  —  all  arts  to  yield 
Light  to  the  mind  from  Childhood  sealed 
Have  been  explored  in  vain. 
Few  are  his  joys  on  earth ;  —  above, 

For  every  ill  a  cure  is  given  — 
God  grant  me  life  to  cheer  with  love 

The  wanderer's  guileless  path  to  Heaven." 
He  paused  —  his  heart  was  full  —  "  And  now, 

What  brings  the  suppliant  father  here  ? 
Yes,  few  the  joys  that  life  bestows 
On  him  whose  life  is  but  repose  — 

One  night,  from  year  to  year ;  — 
Yet  not  so  dark,  O  maid,  if  thou 

Couldst  let  his  shadow  catch  thy  light, 
Couldst  to  his  lip  that  smile  allow 

AVhich  comes  but  at  thy  sight ; 
Couldst  —  (for  the  smile  is  still  so  rare, 

And  oh !  so  innocent  the  joy  !)  — 
His  presence,  though  it  pain  thee,  bear, 

Nor  fear  the  harmless  idiot  boy  !  " 
Then  Eva's  father,  from  her  brow 
Parted  the  golden  locks,  descending 
To  veil  the  sweet  face,  downwards  bending; — • 
And  pointing  to  the  swimming  eyes, 

The  dew-drops  glist'ning  on  the  cheek, 


260 


"  Mourner  ! "  tlie  happier  father  cries, 
"  These  tears  her  answer  speak  ! " 

O,  sweet  the  jasmine's  buds  of  snow, 

In  mornings  soft  with  May  ! 
O,  silver-clear  the  waves  that  flow 

In  summer  slcies  away  ! 
But  sweeter  looks  of  kindness  seem 

O'er  human  trouble  bowed, 
And  gentle  hearts  reflect  the  beam 

Less  truly  than  the  cloud. 


THE   YOUNG    TEACHER. 

Of  wonders  on  the  land  and  deeps 

Slie  spoke,  and  glories  in  the  sky  — 
The  Eternal  life  the  Father  keeps. 

For  those  who  learn  from  Him  to  die. 
So  simply  did  the  maiden  speak  — 

So  simply  and  so  earnestly. 
You  saw  the  light  begin  to  break. 

And  Soul  the  Heaven  to  see ; 
You  saw  how  slowly,  day  by  day, 
The  darksome  waters  caught  the  ray, 
Confused  and  broken  —  come  and  gone  • 

The  beams  as  yet  uncertain  are. 
But  still  the  billows  murmur  on, 


261 


THE    STRANGER-SUITOR. 

There  came  to  Eva's  maiden  home 

A  Stranger  from  a  sunnier  clime ; 
The  lore  that  Hellas  taught  to  Rome, 

The  wealth  that  Wisdom  works  from  Time, 
Which  ever,  in  its  ebb  and  flow, 

Heaves  to  the  seeker  on  the  shore 
The  waifs  of  glorious  wrecks  below, 

The  argosies  of  yore  ;  — 
Each  gem  that  in  that  dark  profound 

The  Past,  —  the  Student's  soul  can  find  ; 
Shone  from  his  thought,  and  sparkled  round 

The  Enchanted  Palace  of  the  Mind. 
In  man's  best  years,  his  form  was  fair. 
Broad  brow  with  hyacinth  locks  of  hair ; 
A  port,  though  stately,  not  severe ; 

An  eye  that  could  the  heart  control ; 
A  voice  whose  music  to  the  ear 

Became  a  memory  to  the  soul. 
It  seemed  as  Nature's  hand  had  done 
Her  most  to  mould  her  kingly  son ; 
But  oft  beneath  the  sunlit  Nile 

The  grim  destroyer  waits  his  prey, 
And  dark,  below  that  fatal  smile, 

The  lurking  demon  lay. 

How  trustful  in  the  leafy  June, 

She  roved  with  him  the  lonely  vale  ; 


2G2 


How  trustful  by  the  tender  moon, 

She  bkished  to  hear  a  tenderer  tale. 
O  happy  Earth !  the  dawn  revives, 

Day  after  day,  each  drooping  flower  — 
Time  to  the  heart  once  only  gives 

The  joyous  Morning-Hour. 
"  To  him  —  oh,  wilt  thou  pledge  thy  youth 

For  whom  the  world's  false  bloom  is  o'er  ? 
My  heart  shall  haven  in  thy  truth, 

And  tempt  the  faithless  wave  no  more. 
In  my  far  land,  a  sun  more  bright 

Sheds  rose-hues  o'er  a  tideless  sea ; 
But  cold  the  wave,  and  dull  the  light, 

Without  the  sunshine  found  in  thee. 
Say,  wilt  thou  come,  the  Stranger's  bride, 

To  that  bright  land  and  tideless  sea  ? 
There  is  no  sun  but  by  thy  side  — 

My  life's  whole  sunshine  smiles  in  thee  !  " 

Her  hand  lay  trembling  on  his  arm, 

Averted  glowed  the  happy  face ; 
A  softer  hue,  a  mightier  charm, 

Grew  mellowing  o'er  the  hour  —  the  place; 
Along  the  breathing  woodlands  moved 

A  PRESEN'CE  dream-like  and  divine  — 
IIow  sweet  to  love  and  be  beloved. 

To  lean  upon  a  heart  that 's  thine  ! 
Silence  was  o'er  the  earth  and  sky  — 

By  silence  Love  is  answered  best  — 
Iler  answer  was  the  downcast  eye, 

The  rose-cheek  pillowed  on  his  breast. 


2G3 


What  rustles  through  the  moonlit  brake  ? 

What  sudden  spectre  meets  their  gaze  ? 
What  face,  the  hues  of  life  forsake, 

Gleams  ghost-like  in  the  ghostly  rays  ? 
You  might  have  heard  his  heart  that  beat, 

So  heaving  rose  its  heavy  swell  — 
No  more  the  Idiot  —  at  her  feet, 

The  Dark  One,  roused  to  reason,  fell. 
Loosed  the  last  link  that  thralled  the  thought, 

The  lightning  broke  upon  the  blind  — 
The  jealous  love  the  cure  had  wrought. 

The  Heart  in  waking  woke  the  Mind. 


THE    MARRIAGE. 

To  and  fro  the  bells  are  swinging. 

Cheerily,  clearly,  to  and  fro ; 
Gayly  go  the  young  girls,  bringmg 

Flowers  the  fairest  June  may  know. 
Maiden,  flowers  that  bloomed  and  perished 

Strewed  thy  path  the  bridal  day ; 
May  the  Hope  thy  soul  has  cherished 

Bloom  when  these  are  passed  away  ! 

The  Father's  parting  prayer  is  said, 
The  daughter's  parting  kiss  is  given ; 

The  tears  a  happy  bride  may  shed, 
Like  dews  ascend  to  heaven  ; 

And  leave  the  earth  from  whicli  they  rise, 

But  balmier  airs,  and  rosier  dyes. 


264  EVA. 


THE    HERMIT. 

Years  fly ;  beneath  the  yew-tree's  shade 

Thy  father's  holy  dust  is  laid  ; 

The  brook  glides  on,  the  jasmine  blows ; 

But  where  art  thou,  the  wandering  wife, 
And  what  the  bliss,  and  what  the  woes, 

Glassed  in  the  mirror-sleep  of  life  ? 
For  whether  life  may  laugh  or  weep, 
Death  the  true  waking  —  life  the  sleep. 
None  know !  afar,  unheard,  unseen  — 
The  present  heeds  not  what  has  been  ; 
This  herded  world,  together  prest, 
Can  miss  no  straggler  from  the  rest  — 
Not  so !     Nay,  all  one  heart  may  find, 
Where  Memory  lives,  a  saint  enshrined  — 
Some  altar-hearth,  in  which  our  shade 
The  Household-god  of  Thought  is  made, 
And  each  slight  relic  hoarded  yet 
AVith  fiilth  more  solemn  than  regret. 
Who  tenants  thy  forsaken  cot  — 

Who  tends  thy  childhood's  favorite  flowers  ■ 
Who  wakes,  from  every  haunted  spot. 

The  Ghosts  of  buried  Hours  ? 
'T  is  He  whose  sense  was  doomed  to  borrow 
From  thee  the  Vision  and  the  Sorrow  — 
To  whom  the  Reason's  golden  ray, 

In  storms  that  rent  the  heart,  was  given ; 
The  peal  that  burst  the  clouds  away 

Left  clear  the  face  of  heaven  I 


265 


And  wealth  was  his,  and  gentle  birth, 

A  form  in  fair  proportions  cast ; 
But  lonely  still  he  walked  the  earth  — 

The  Hermit  of  the  Past. 
It  was  not  love  —  that  dream  was  o'er ! 

No  stormy  grief,  no  wild  emotion  ; 
For  oft,  what  once  was  love  of  yore. 

The  memory  soothes  into  devotion ! 
He  bought  the  cot :  —  The  garden  flowers  — 

The  haunts  his  Eva's  steps  had  trod. 
Books  —  thought  —  beguiled  the  lonely  hours, 

That  flowed  In  peaceful  waves  to  God. 

VIII. 
DESERTION. 

She  sits,  a  Statue  of  Despair, 

In  that  far  land,  by  that  bright  sea; 
She  sits,  a  Statue  of  Despair, 

Whose  smile  an  Angel  seemed  to  be  — 
An  angel  that  could  never  die, 
Its  home  the  heaven  of  that  blue  eye  ! 
The  smile  is  gone  for  ever  there  — 
She  sits,  the  Statue  of  Despair  ! 
She  knows  it  all  —  the  hideous  tale  — 

The  wrong,  the  perjuiy,  and  the  shame;  — 
Uefore  the  bride  had  left  her  vale, 

Another  bore  the  nuptial  name ; 
Another  lives  to  claim  the  hand 

Whose  clasp,  in  thrilling,  had  defdcd  : 
A^nother  lives,  O  God,  to  brand 

The  Bastard's  curse  upon  her  ciiild  ! 


266 


AxoTHER !  —  through  all  space  she  saw 

The  face  that  mocked  th'  unwedded  mother's  ! 
In  every  voice  she  heard  the  Law, 

That  cried,  "  Thou  hast  usurped  another's  !  " 
And  who  the  horror  first  had  told  ?  — 

From  his  false  lips  in  scorn  it  came,  — 
"  Thy  charms  grow  dim,  my  love  grows  cold ; 

INIy  sails  are  spread —  Farewell." 
Rigid  in  voiceless  marble  there  — 

Come,  sculptor,  come  —  behold  Despair ! 

The  infant  woke  from  feverish  rest  — 
Its  smile  she  sees,  its  voice  she  hears  — 

The  marble  melted  from  the  breast, 
And  all  the  Mother  gushed  in  tears. 


THE    IXFAXT-BURIAL. 

To  and  fro  the  bells  are  swinging, 

Heavily  heaving  to  and  fro ; 
Sadly  go  the  mourners,  bringing 

Dust  to  join  the  dust  below. 
Through  the  church-aisle,  lighted  dim. 
Chanted  knells  the  ghostly  hymn, 
Dies  irce,  dies  ilia, 
Solvet  sceclum  in  favilld  ! 
Mother  !  flowers  that  bloomed  and  perished 

Strewed  thy  path  the  bridal  day ; 
Now  the  bud  thy  grief  has  cherished. 

With  the  rest  has  passed  away  ! 


267 


Leaf  that  fadeth  —  bud  that  bloometh, 

Mnigled  there,  must  wait  the  day 
When  tlie  seed  the  gravQ  entombeth 

Bursts  to  glory  from  the  clay. 
Dies  vxc,  dies  ilia, 
Sol  vet  sceclum  in  favillu  ! 
Happy  are  the  old  that  die, 

AVith  the  sins  of  life  repented ; 
Happier  he  whose  partmg  sigh 

Breaks  a  heart,  from  sin  jn-evented  I 
Let  the  earth  thine  infant  cover 

From  the  cares  the  living  know ; 
Happier  than  the  guilty  lover  — 

]\Iemory  is  at  rest  below  ! 
Memory,  like  a  fiend,  shall  follow, 

Night  and  day,  the  steps  of  Ci-ime  ; 
Hark  !  the  church-bell,  dull  and  hollow, 

Shakes  another  sand  from  time  1 
Through  the  church-aisle,  lighted  dim, 
Chanted  knells  the  ghostly  hymn  ; 
Hear  it.  False  One,  where  thou  fliest, 
Shriek  to  hear  it  when  thou  diest  — 
Dies  irce,  dies  ilia, 
Solvet  sceclum  in  Javilld  ! 

X. 

THE   KETURN. 

The  cottage  in  the  peaceful  vale. 
The  jasmine  round  the  door, 

Tlic  hill  still  slielters  from  the  gale, 
Tlie  brook  still  glides  before. 


2G8 


"Without  tlie  porch,  one  summer  noon, 

The  Hermit-dweller  see  ! 
In  musing  silence  bending  down, 

The  book  \i])on  his  knee. 

"Who  stands  between  thee  and  the  sun  ?  — 

A  cloud  herself,  —  the  Wandering  One  !  — 
A  vacant  sadness  in  the  eyes, 

The  mind  a  razed,  defeatured  scroll ; 
The  light  is  in  the  laughing  skies, 

And  darkness,  Eva,  in  thy  soul ! 
The  beacon  shaken  in  the  storm 

Had  struggled  still  to  gleam  above 

The  last  sad  wreck  of  human  love, 
Upon  the  dying  child  to  shed 
One  ray  —  extinguished  with  the  dead  : 
O'er  earth  and  heaven  then  iiished  the  night ! 

A  wandering  dream,  a  mindless  form  — 
A  Star  hurled  headlong  from  its  height, 
Guldeless  its  course,  and  quenched  its  light. 
Yet  still  the  native  instinct  stirred 

The  darkness  of  the  breast  — 
She  flies,  as  flies  the  wounded  bird 

Unto  the  distant  nest. 
O'er  hill  and  waste,  from  land  to  land, 
Her  heart  the  faithful  instinct  bore  ; 
And  there,  behold  the  "Wanderer  stand 

Beside  her  Childhood's  Home  once  more ! 


269 


LIGHT   AND   DARKNESS. 

Wlien  earth  is  fair,  and  winds  are  still, 
When  sunset  gilds  the  ■western  hill, 
Oft  by  the  porch,  with  jasmine  sweet, 
Or  by  the  brook,  with  noiseless  feet. 

Two  silent  forms  are  seen  ; 
So  silent  they  — the  place  so  lone  — 
They  seem  like  souls,  when  life  is  gone, 

That  haunt  where  life  has  been : 
And  his  to  watch,  as  in  the  past 

Her  soul  had  watched  his  soul. 
Alas  !  Iter  darkness  waits  the  last, 

The  grave  the  only  goal ! 
It  is  not  what  the  leech  can  cure  — 

An  erring  chord,  a  jarring  madness : 
A  calm  so  deep,  it  must  endure  — 

So  deep,  thou  scarce  canst  call  it  sadness ; 
A  summer  night,  whose  shadow  falls 
On  silent  hearths  in  ruined  halls. 
Yet,  through  the  gloom,  she  seemed  to  feel 

Ills  presence  like  a  happier  air, 
Close  by  his  side  she  loved  to  steal. 

As  if  no  ill  could  harm  her  there  ! 
And  when  her  looks  his  own  would  seek, 

Some  memory  seemed  to  wake  the  sigh, 
Strive  for  kind  words  she  could  not  speak, 

And  bless  him  in  the  tearful  eye. 
O  sweet  the  jasmine's  buds  of  snow. 

In  mornings  soft  with  INIay, 


270  THK    FAIRY   BRIDE. 

And  silver-clear  the  waves  that  flow 

To  shoreless  deeps  away  ! 
But  heavenward  from  the  faithful  heart 

A  sweeter  incense  stole  ;  — 
The  onward  waves  their  source  desert, 

But  Soul  returns  to  Soul ! 


THE   FAIRY  BRIDE. 

A  TALE.  * 
PART    I. 

"  And  how  canst  thou  in  tourneys  shin^ 
Or  tread  the  glittering  festal  floor  ? 

On  chains  of  gold  and  cloth  of  pile, 

The  looks  of  high-born  Beauty  smile  ; 

Nor  peerless  deeds,  nor  stainless  line. 
Can  lift  to  fame  the  Poor ! " 

His  IMother  spoke  ;  and  Elvar  sighed  — 
The  sigh  alone  confessed  the  truth ; 

He  curbed  the  thoughts  that  galled  the  ba-east  — 

High  thoughts  ill  suit  the  russet  vest ; 

Yet  Arthur's  Court,  in  all  its  pride, 
Ne'er  saw  so  fair  a  youth. 

*  As  the  subject  of  this  tale  is  suggested  by  one  of  the  Fabliaux, 
the  author  has  represented  Arthur  and  Guenever  according  to  the 
view  of  their  characters  taken  in  those  Frencli  Romances  —  which 
he  hopes  he  need  scarcely  say  is  very  different  from  tliat  taken  in 
his  niaturer  Poem  upon  the  adventures  and  ordeal  of  the  Dragon- 
King. 


THE   FAIR!'   BRIDE.  271 

Far,  to  the  forest's  stillest  shade, 

Sir  Elvar  took  his  lonely  way ; 
Beneath  an  oak,  whose  gentle  frown 
Dimmed  noon's  bright  eyes,  he  laid  him  down ; 
And  watched  a  Fount  that  through  the  glade 

Sang,  spai'kling  ujj  to  day. 

"  As  sunlight  to  the  forest  tree  "  — 

'T  was  thus  his  murmured  musings  ran  — 
"  And  as  amidst  the  sunlight's  glow, 
The  freshness  of  the  fountain's  flow  — 
So  —  (ah,  they  never  mine  may  be  !)  — 
Are  Gold  and  Love  to  Man." 

And  while  he  spoke,  a  gentle  air 

Seemed  stirring  through  the  crystal  tides ; 

A  gleam,  at  first  both  dim  and  bright, 

Trembled  to  shape,  in  limbs  of  light, 

Gilded  to  sunbeams  by  the  hair 
That  glances  where  it  glides ;  * 

Till,  clear  and  clearer,  upward  borne, 

The  Fairy  of  the  Fountain  rose : 
The  halo  quivering  round  her  grew 
]\Iore  steadfast,  as  the  shape  shone  througli  — 
O  sure,  a  second,  softer  Morn 

The  Elder  Daylight  knows ! 

Born  from  the  blue  of  those  deep  eyes, 
Such  love  its  happy  self  betrayed 


"  With  liair  that  gilds  tlio  water  as  it  plides." 

Marlowe,  Edw.  K. 


272  THE   FAIRY   BRIDE. 

As  only  haunts  that  tender  race, 
With  flower  or  fount,  their  dwelling-place  — 
The  darhng  of  the  earth  and  skies 
She  rose  —  that  Fairy  Maid  ! 

"  Listen  ! "  she  said,  and  wave  and  land 

Sighed  back  her  munnur,  murmurously  — 
"  A  love  more  true  than  minstrel  sings, 
A  wealth  that  mocks  the  pomp  of  kings, 
To  him  who  Avins  the  Fairy's  hand 
A  Fairy's  dower  shall  be. 

"  But  not  to  those  can  we  belong 

AVhose  sense  the  charms  of  earth  allure  ?  - 

If  human  love  hath  yet  been  thine. 

Farewell,  —  our  laws  forbid  thee  mine. 

The  Children  of  the  Star  and  Song, 
We  may  but  bless  the  Pui-e  ! " 

"  Dream  — lovelier  far  than  e'er,  I  ween, 
Entranced  the  glorious  Merlin's  eyes  — 
Through  childhood,  to  this  happiest  hour, 
All  free  from  human  Beaut}'s  power, 
My  heart  unresting  still  hath  been 
A  prophet  in  its  sighs. 

"  Tliough  never  living  shape  hath  brought 
Sweet  love,  that  second  life,  to  me, 

Yet  over  earth,  and  through  the  heaven. 

The  thoughts  that  ])ined  for  love  were  driven : 

I  see  thee  —  and  I  feel  I  sought 

Through  Earth  and  Heaven  for  thee  ! " 


THE   FAIUY    CUIDE.  273 


PART    II. 


Ask  not  the  Bard  to  lift  the  veil 

That  hides  the  Fairy's  bridal  bower ; 

If  thou  art  young,  go  seek  the  glade, 

And  win  thyself  some  fairy  maid  ; 

And  rosy  lips  shall  tell  the  tale 
lu  some  enchanted  houi*. 

"  Farewell !  "  as  by  the  greenwood  tree 
The  Fairy  clasped  the  INlortal's  hand  — • 

"  Our  laws  forbid  thee  to  delay  — 

Not  ours  the  life  of  every  day !  — 

And  j\Ian,  alas  !  may  rarely  be 
The  Guest  of  Fairy-land. 

"  Back  to  thy  Prince's  halls  depart, 
The  stateliest  of  his  stately  train  : 

Henceforth  thy  wish  shall  be  thy  mine  — 

Each  toy  that  gold  can  purchase,  thine  — 

A  Fairy's  coffers  are  the  heart 
A  mortal  cannot  drain." 

"  Talk  not  of  wealth  —  tliat  dream  is  o'er  !- 
These  sunny  locks  be  all  my  gokl ! " 

"  Nay  !  if  in  courts  thy  tlioughts  can  stray 

Along  the  fairy-forest  way. 

Wish  but  to  see  thy  bride  once  more  — 
Thy  bride  thou  shalt  behold. 
18 


274  THE   FAIRY   BRIDE. 

"  Yet  hear  the  law  on  which  must  rest 

Thy  union  with  thine  elfin  bride. ; 
If  ever  by  a  word  —  a  tone  — 
Thou  mak'st  our  tender  secret  known, 
The  spell  will  vanish  from  thy  breast  — 
The  Fairy  from  thy  side. 

"  If  thou  but  boast  to  mortal  ear 

The  meanest  charm  thou  find'st  in  me, 
If"  —  here  his  lips  the  sAveet  lips  seal, 
Low  murmuring,  "  Love  can  ne'er  reveal  - 
It  cannot  breathe  to  mortal  ear 
The  charms  it  finds  in  thee ! " 


PART   III. 

High  joust,  by  Carduel's  ancient  town, 
The  Kingly  x\rthur  holds  to-day ; 

Around  their  Queen,  in  glittering  row, 

The  Starry  Hosts  of  Beauty  glow. 

Smile  down,  ye  stars,  on  his  renown 
Who  bears  the  wreath  away  I 

O  chiefs  who  gird  the  Table  Round  — 

O  war-gems  of  that  Avondrous  ring !  — 
Where  lives  the  man  to  match  the  might 
That  lifts  to  song  your  meanest  knight, 
Who  sees  preside,  on  Glory's  ground, 
ILs  Lady  and  his  King  ? 


THE   FAIRY   BRIDE.  275 

What  prince,  as  from  some  throne  afar, 
Shines  onwai'd  —  shining  np  the  throng  ? 

Broidered  with  pearls,  his  mantle's  fold 

Flows  o'er  the  mail  embossed  with  gold ; 

As  rides,  from  cloud  to  cloud,  a  star, 
The  Bright  One  rode  along ! 

Twice  fifty  stalwart  Squires,  in  air 
The  stranger's  knightly  pennon  bore ; 

Twice  fifty  Pages,  pacing  slow. 

Scatter  his  largess  as  they  go ; 

Calm  through  the  crowd  he  passed,  and,  there, 
Reined  in  the  Lists  before. 

Light  question  in  those  elder  days 
The  heralds  made  of  birth  and  name. 

Enough  to  wear  the  spurs  of  gold, 

To  share  the  jiastime  of  the  bold. 

"  Forwards  I  "  their  wands  the  Heralds  raise, 
And  in  the  Lists  he  came. 

Now  rouse  thee,  rouse  thee,  bold  Gawaine  ! 

Think  of  thy  Lady's  ej^es  above ; 
Now  rouse  thee  for  thy  Queen's  sweet  sake, 
Thou  peerless  Lancelot  of  the  Lake  ! 
Vain  Gawaine's  might,  and  Lancelot's  vain  !  — • 

Tlicy  know  no  Fairy's  love. 

Before  liim  swells  the  joyous  tromp. 

He  comes  —  the  victor's  wreath  is  won  I 
Low  to  his  Queen  Sir  Elvar  kneels. 


276  THE    FAIUY    IJIIIDE. 

Tlic  helm  no  more  liis  face  conceals ; 

And  one  pale  form  amidst  the  pomp 

Sobs  forth  —  "  My  gallant  son ! " 


Sir  Elvar  is  the  fairest  knight 

That  ever  lured  a  lady's  glance  ; 
Sir  Elvar  is  the  wealthiest  lord 
That  sits  at  good  King  Arthur's  board ', 
The  bravest  in  the  joust  or  fight, 
The  lightest  in  the  dance. 

And  never  love,  methinks,  so  blest 

As  his,  this  weary  world  has  known  ; 
For,  every  night  before  his  eyes, 
The  charms  that  ne'er  can  fade  arise  — • 
A  Star  unseen  by  all  the  rest  — 
A  Life  for  him  alone. 

And  yet  Sir  Elvar  is  not  blest  — 

He  walks  apart  with  brows  of  gloom  — - 

"  The  meanest  knight  in  Arthur's  hall 

His  ladye-love  may  tell  to  all ; 

He  shows  the  flower  that  glads  his  breast  ■ 
His  pride  to  boast  its  bloom  ! 

"  And  I,  who  clasp  the  foirest  form 

That  e'er  to  man's  embrace  was  given, 
Must  hide  the  gift  as  if  in  shame  ! 


THE    FAIRY    BKIDE. 

What  boots  a  prize  we  dare  not  name  ? 
The  sun  must  slilne  if  it  would  warm  — 
A  cloud  is  all  my  heaven  ! " 

Much  proud  Genevra  *  marvelled,  how 
A  knight  so  fair  should  seem  so  cold ; 

What  if  a  love  for  hope  too  high, 

Has  chained  the  lip  and  awed  the  eye? 

A  second  joust  —  and  surely  now 
The  secret  shall  be  told. 

For,  there,  alone  shall  ride  the  brave 
Whose  glory  dwells  in  Beauty's  fame  ; 

Each,  for  his  lady's  honor,  arms  — 

His  lance  the  test  of  rival  charms. 

Joy  unto  him  whom  Beauty  gave 
The  right  to  gild  her  name  ! 

Sir  Lancelot  burns  to  win  the  pi'ize  — 

First  in  the  Lists  his  shield  is  seen  ; 
A  sunflower  for  device  he  took  — 
"  Where'er  thou  shinest  turns  my  look." 
So  as  he  paced  the  lists,  his  eyes 
Still  sought  the  Sun  —  his  Queen  ! 

"  And  why.  Sir  Elvar,  loiterest  thou  ?  — 
Lives  there  no  fair  thy  lance  to  claim  ? 
No  answer  Elvar  made  the  King; 


*  As  Guenever  is  ortcn  called  Genevra  in  the  Fronch  Romances, 
the  latter  name  is  here  adopted  for  the  sake  of  euphony. 


278  THE    FAIRY    BRIDE. 

Sullen  he  stood  witliout  the  ring. 
"  Forwards  !  "     An  armed  whirlwind  now 
On  horse  and  hoi'seman  came  ! 

And  down  goes  princely  Caradoc  — 
Down  Tristan  and  stout  Agrafrayn,  — 

Unscathed,  alone,  amidst  the  field, 

Great  Lancelot  bears  his  victor-shield  ; 

The  sunflower  bright'ning  through  the  shock, 
And  through  that  iron  rain. 

"  Sound  trumpets,  sound !  —  to  South  and  North! 

I,  Lancelot  of  the  Lake,  proclaim, 
That  never  sun  and  never  air 
Or  shone  or  breathed  on  form  so  fair 
As  hers  —  thrice,  trumpets,  sound  it  forth  !  — 

Our  Arthur's  royal  dame  !  " 

And  South  and  North,  and  West  and  East, 

Upon  the  thunder-blast  it  flies ! 
Still  on  his  steed  sits  Lancelot, 
And  even  echo  answers  not ; 
Till,  as  the  stormy  challenge  ceast, 

A  voice  was  heard  —  "  He  lies  1 " 

All  turned  their  mute,  astonished  gaze 
To  where  the  daring  answer  came. 
And  lo  !   Sir  Elvar's  haughty  crest !  — 
Fierce  on  the  knight  the  gazers  prest ;  — 
Their  wands  the  sacred  Heralds  raise,  — 
Genevra  weeps  for  shame. 


THE    FAIRY   BRIDE.  279 

*'  Sir  Knight,"  King  Arthur  smihng  said, 
(In  smiles  a  king  should  wrath  disguise,) 

"  Know'st  thou,  in  truth,  a  dame  so  fair. 

Our  Queen  may  not  with  her  conij^are  ? 

Genevra,  weep,  and  hide  thy  head  — 
Sir  Lancelot,  yield  the  prize." 

"  O,  grace,  my  liege,  for  surely  each 

The  dame  he  serves  should  peerless  hold, 

To  loyal  eye  and  faithful  breast 

The  loved  one  is  the  loveliest." 

The  King  replied,  "  Not  crafty  speech  — 
Bold  deeds  —  excuse  the  bokl ! 

"  So  name  thy  fair,  defend  her  right ! 

A  list !  - —  IIo  Lancelot,  guard  thy  shield. 
Iler  name  ?  "  —  Sir  Elvar's  visage  fell : 
"  A  vow  forbids  the  name  to  tell." 
"  Now  out  upon  the  recreant  Knight 

Who  courts  yet  shuns  the  field  ! 

"  Foul  shame,  were  royal  name  disgraced 

By  some  light  leman's  tainiting  smile  ! 
Whoe'er  —  so  run  the  tourney's  laws  — 
Would  break  a  lance  in  Beauty's  cause, 
Must  name  the  High-born  and  the  Chaste  : 
The  nameless  are  the  vile." 

Sir  Elvar  glanced,  where,  stern  and  high. 

The  scornful  champion  reined  his  steed ; 
Where  o'er  the  Lists  the  seats  were  raised. 


280  THE   FAinY   BRIDE. 

And  jealous  dames  disdainful  gazed, 
He  glanced,  ncr  caught  one  gentle  eye  — 
Courts  grow  not  friends  at  need  : 

"  King  !  I  have  said,  and  keep  my  tow." 
"  Thy  vow  !  I  pledge  thee  mine  in  turn, 

Ere  the  third  sun  shall  sink,  — or  bring 

A  fair  outshining  yonder  viug, 

Or  find  minu  oath  as  thine  is  now 
Inrte:abie  and  stern. 

"  Thy  sword,  unmeet  to  serve  the  right,  — 
Thy  spurs,  unfit  for  churls  to  wear. 

Torn  from  thee  ;  through  the  crowd,  which  heard 

Our  Lady  weep  at  vassal's  word. 

Shall  hiss  the  hoot,  — '  Behold  the  knight, 
Whose  lips  belie  the  fair ! ' 

"  Three  days  I  give  ;  nor  think  to  fly 
Thy  doom ;  for  on  the  rider's  steed, 

Though  to  the  flirthest  earth  he  ride,  — 

Disgrace  once  mounted,  clings  beside ; 

And  Mockery's  barbed  shafts  defy 
Her  victim's  swiftest  speed." 

Far  to  the  forest's  stillest  shade, 

Sir  Elvar  took  his  lonely  way ; 
Beneath  the  oak,  whose  gentle  frown 
Still  dimmed  the  noon,  he  laid  him  down, 
And  saw  the  Fount  that  through  the  glade 

Sang  sparkling  up  to  day. 


THE    FAIUY   BRIDE.  281 

Alas !  in  vain  his  lieart  addrest, 

With  sighs,  with  prayers,  his  elfin  bride ;  — 
What  though  the  vow  concealed  the  name, 
Did  not  the  boast  the  charms  proclaim  ? 
The  spell  has  vanished  from  his  breast. 

The  fairy  from  his  side. 

O,  not  for  A'ulgar  homage  made. 
The  holier  beauty  formed  for  one  ; 

It  asks  no  wreath  the  arm  can  win, 

Its  lists  —  its  world  —  the  heart  within  ; 

All  love,  if  sacred,  haunts  the  shade  — 
The  star  shrinks  from  the  sun ! 

Three  days  the  wanderer  roved  in  vain  ; 

Uprose  the  flital  dawn  at  last ! 
The  Lists  are  set,  the  galleries  raised. 
And  scorned  by  all  the  eyes  that  gazed, 
Alone  he  fronts  the  crowd  again. 

And  hears  the  sentence  past. 

Now,  as,  amidst  the  hooting  scorn, 

Rude  hands  the  hard  command  fulfil. 
While  rings  the  challenge —  "  Sun  and  air 
Ne'er  shone,  ne'er  breathed,  on  form  so  fair 
As  Arthur's  Queen,"  —  a  single  horn 
Came  from  the  forest  hill. 

A  note  so  distant  and  so  lone. 

And  yet  so  sweet,  —  it  thrilled  along, 
It  hushed  the  Champion  on  his  steed, 


282  THE   FAIRY   BRIDE. 

Startled  the  rode  hands  from  then-  deed, 
Charmed  the  stern  Arthur  on  his  throne, 
And  stilled  the  shouting  throng. 

To  North,  to  South,  to  East  and  West, 

They  turned  their  eyes ;  and  o'er  the  plain, 

On  palfrey  white,  a  Ladye  rode ; 

As  woven  light  her  mantle  glowed. 

Two  lovely  shapes,  in  azui'e  drest, 
Walked  first,  and  led  the  rein. 

The  crowd  gave  way,  as  onward  bore 
That  vision  from  the  Land  of  Dreams  5 

Yelled  was  the  gentle  rider's  face. 

But  not  the  two  her  path  that  grace. 

How  dim  beside  the  charms  they  wore 
All  human  beauty  seems  ! 

So  to  the  throne  the  pageant  came, 
And  thus  the  Fairy  to  the  King : 
"  Not  imto  thee  for  ever  dear, 
By  minstrel's  song,  to  knighthood's  ear. 
Beseems  the  wrath  that  wrongs  the  a'ow 
"\^^lich  hallows  ev'n  a  name. 

"  Bloom  there  no  flowers  more  SAveet  by  night  ? 

Come,  Queen,  before  the  judgment  thi'one  ; 
Behold  Sir  Elvar's  nameless  bride  ! 
Now,  Queen,  his  doom  thyself  decide." 
She  raised  her  veil,  —  and  all  her  light 

Of  beauty  round  them  shone  ! 


THE    FAIRY    BRIDE.  283 

The  bloom,  the  eyes,  the  locks,  the  smile, 

That  never  earth  nor  time  could  dim;  — 
Day  grew  more  bright,  and  air  more  clear, 
As  Heaven  itself  were  brought  more  near.  — 
And  oh !  7««  joy,  who  felt,  the  while, 
That  light  but  glowed  for  him 

"  My  steed,  my  lance,  vain  Champion,  now 
To  arms :  and  Heaven  defend  the  right  I  "  — ■ 

Here  spake  the  Queen,  "  The  strife  is  past," 

And  in  the  Lists  her  glove  she  cast, 

"  And  I  myself  will  crown  thy  brow, 
Thou  love-defended  Knight ! " 

He  comes  to  claim  the  garland  crown  ; 

The  changeful  thousands  shout  his  name  ; 
And  faithless  beauty  round  him  smiled, 
How  cold,  beside  the  Forest's  Child, 
Who  asked  not  love  to  bring  renown, 

And  clung  to  love  in  shame  ! 

He  bears  the  prize  to  those  dear  feet  : 
"  Not  mine  the  guerdon  !  oh,  not  mine  !  " 

Sadly  the  fated  Fairy  hears, 

And  smiles  through  unreproachful  tears : 

"  Nay,  keep  the  flowers,  and  be  they  sweet 
When  I  —  no  more  am  thine  !  " 

She  lowered  the  veil,  she  turned  the  rein. 

And  ere  his  lips  replied  was  gone. 
As  on  she  went  her  charmed  way. 


284  THE   BEACON. 

No  mortal  dared  tlie  steps  to  stay ; 
And  when  she  -Nanished  from  the  plain 
All  space  seemed  left  alone  ! 

Oh,  woe  !  that  fairy  shape  no  more 

Shall  bless  thy  love  nor  ronse  thy  pride ! 
He  seeks  the  wood,  he  gains  the  spot  — 
The  Tree  is  there,  the  Fountain  not ;  — 
Dried  up  :  — •  its  mirthful  play  is  o'er. 
Ah,  where  the  Fairy-bride  ? 

Alas,  with  fairies,  as  with  men. 

Who  love  are  victims  from  the  birth  ! 

A  fearful  doom  the  fairy  shrouds. 

If  once  unveiled  by  day  to  crowds. 

The  Fountain  vanished  from  the  glen, 
The  Fairy  from  the  earth  ! 


THE   BEACON. 

I. 
IIow  broad  and  bright  athwart  the  wave, 
Its  steadfast  light  the  Beacon  gave ! 
Far  beetling  from  the  headland  shore, 
The  rock  behind,  the  surge  before,  — 
How  lone  and  stern  and  tempest-seared, 
Its  brow  to  Heaven  the  turret  reared  ! 
T}'pe  of  the  glorious  souls  that  are 

The  lamps  our  wandering  barks  to  light. 


THE    BEACOX.  28? 

AVith  storm  and  cloud  round  every  star, 
The  Fire-Guides  of  the  Kicrht ' 


How  dreary  was  that  solitude  ! 

Around  it  screamed  the  sea-fowl's  brood  ; 

The  only  sound,  amidst  the  strife 

Of  wind  and  wave,  that  spoke  of  life, 

Except,  when  Heaven's  ghost-stars  were  jiale, 

The  distant  cry  from  hurrying  sail. 

From  year  to  year  the  weeds  had  grown 
O'er  walls  slow-rotting  with  the  damp ; 

And,  with  the  weeds,  decayed,  alone. 
The  Warder  of  the  lamp. 

III. 

But  twice  in  every  week  from  shore 
Fuel  and  food  the  boatmen  bore ; 
And  then  so  dreary  was  the  scene, 
So  wild  and  grim  the  warder's  mien, 
So  many  a  darksome  legend  gave 
Awe  to  that  Tadmor  of  the  wave. 

That  scarce  the  boat  the  rock  could  gain, 
Scarce  heaved  the  pannier  on  the  stone, 

Than  from  the  rock  and  from  the  main 
Th'  unwilling  life  was  gone. 

IV. 

A  man  he  was  whom  man  had  driven 

To  loathe  the  earth  and  doubt  the  heaven  ; 

A  tyrant  foe,  (beloved  in  youth,) 


286  THE   BEACON. 

Had  called  the  law  to  crush  the  truth ; 
Stripped  hearth  and  home,  and  left  to  shame 
The  broken  heart  —  the  blackened  name. 
Dark  exile  from  his  kindred,  then, 

He  hailed  the  rock,  the  lonely  wild ; 
Upon  the  man  at  war  with  men 
The  frown  of  Nature  smiled. 


But  suns  on  suns  had  rolled  away ; 

The  frame  was  bowed,  the  locks  were  gray 

And  the  eternal  sea  and  sky 

Seemed  one  still  death  to  that  dead  eye  ; 

And  Terror,  like  a  spectre,  rose 

From  the  dull  tomb  of  that  repose. 

No  sight,  no  sound,  of  human-kind ; 
The  hours,  like  drops  upon  the  stone  ! 

What  countless  phantoms  man  may  find 
In  that  dark  word  —  "  Alone  ! " 


Dreams  of  blue  Heaven  and  Hope  can  dwell 
With  Thraldom  in  its  narrowest  cell ; 
The  airy  mind  may  pierce  the  bars, 
Elude  the  chain,  and  hail  the  stars : 
Canst  thou  no  drearier  dungeon  guess 
In  space,  when  space  is  loneliness  ? 

The  body's  freedom  profits  none ; 
The  heart  desires  an  equal  scope ; 

All  nature  is  a  gaol  to  one 

Who  knows  nor  love  nor  hope  ! 


THE    BEACON.  287 

VII. 

One  day,  all  summer  in  the  sky, 

A  happy  crew  came  gliding  by, 

"With  songs  of  mirth,  and  looks  of  glee  — 

A  human  sunbeam  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  O  Warder  of  the  Beacon,"  cried 

A  noble  youth,  the  helm  beside, 

"  This  summer-day  how  canst  thou  bear 
To  guard  thy  smileless  rock  alone. 

And  through  the  hum  of  Nature  hear 
No  heart-beat  save  thine  own  ?  " 

VIII. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  live  alone, 
To  hear  no  heart-beat  save  my  own  ; 
Each  moment,  on  this  crowded  earth, 
The  joy-bells  ring  some  new-born  birth  ; 
Can  ye  not  spare  one  form  —  but  one, 
The  lowest  —  least  beneath  the  sun. 
To  make  the  morning  musical 

With  welcome  from  a  human  sound  ?  " 
"  Nay,"  spake  the  youth  —  "  and  is  that  all  ? 

Thy  comrade  shall  be  found." 

IX. 

The  boat  sailed  on,  and  o'er  the  main 
The  awe  of  silence  closed  again  ; 
But  in  the  wassail  hours  of  night. 
When  goblets  go  their  rounds  of  light. 
And  in  the  dance,  and  by  the  side 
Of  her,  yon  moon  shall  mark  his  bride, 


288  THK    BEACOX. 

Before  tliat  Child  of  Pleasure  rose 
The  loneh'  i-oc-k  — llie  lonelier  one, 

A  haunting  spectre — till  be  knows 
The  human  wish  is  won ! 

X. 

Low-murmuring  round  the  turret's  base 
Wave  glides  on  wave  its  gentle  chase ; 
Lone  on  the  rock,  the  warder  hears 
The  oar's  faint  nuisic  —  hark  !  it  nears  — 
It  gains  the  rock  ;  the  rowei-'s  hand 
Aids  a  gray,  time-worn  form  to  land. 

"  Behold  the  comrade  sent  to  thee  ! " 

He  said  —  then  went.     And  in  that  placo 

The  Twain  Avere  left ;  and  INlisery 
And  Guilt  stood  face  to  face  1 

XI. 

Yes,  face  to  face  once  more  arrayed, 
Stood  the  Betrayer  —  the  Betrayed  ! 
Oh,  how  through  all  those  gloomy  years, 
"When  Guilt  revolves  what  Conscience  iears, 
Had  that  wronged  victim  breathed  the  vow 
That^  if  hut  face  to  face  —  And  now. 

There  face  to  face  with  him  he  stood, 
By  the  great  sea,  on  that  wild  steep ; 

Ai'ound,  the  voiceless  Solitude, 
Below,  the  funeral  Deep ! 


They  gazed  —  the  Injurer's  face  grew  pale  ■ 
Pale  writhe  the  lips,  the  murmurs  fail. 


TIIK    15KACON.  289 

And  thrice  he  strives  to  speak  —  in  vain  !  — 
The  sun  looks  blood-red  on  the  main, 
The  boat  glides,  waning  less  and  less  — 
No  Law  lives  in  the  wilderness, 

Except  Revenge  —  man's  first  and  last ! 

Those  wrongs  —  that  wretch  —  could  thej^  for- 
give ? 
All  that  could  sweeten  life  was  past, 
Yet,  O  how  sweet  to  live  ! 

xiir. 
He  gazed  before,  he  glanced  behind, 
There,  o'er  the  steep  rock  seems  to  wind 
The  devious,  scarce-seen  path,  a  snake 
In  slime  and  sloth  might,  laboring,  make  ; 
With  a  wild  cry  he  springs;  —  he  crawls; 
Crag  upon  crag  he  clears  ;  —  and  tails 
Breathless  and  mute  ;  and  o'er  him  stands, 

Pale  as  himself,  the  chasing  foe  — 
jNIercy  !  what  mean  those  clasped  hands, 
Those  lips  that  tremble  so  ? 

XIV. 

"  Thou  hast  cursed  lu)-  life,  my  wealth  despoiled ; 

My  hearth  is  cold,  my  name  is  soiled ; 

The  wreck  of  what  was  ]\Ian,  I  stand 

'JMid  the  lone  sea  and  desert  land  ! 

Well,  I  forgive  thee  all ;  but  be 

A  human  voice  and  face  to  me  ! 
O  stay  —  O  stay  —  and  let  me  yet 
One  thing  that  speaks  man's  language  know ! 
19 


290  THE   BEACON. 

The  waste  hath  taught  me  to  forget 
That  earth  once  held  a  foe  !  " 

XV. 

O  Heaven !  methhiks,  from  thy  soft  skies, 
Looked  tearful  down  the  angel-eyes ; 
Back  to  those  walls  to  mark  them  go, 
Hand  clasped  in  hand  —  the  Foe  and  Foe  ! 
And  when  the  sun  sunk  slowly  there, 
Low  knelt  the  prayerless  man  in  prayer. 
He  knelt,  no  more  the  lonely  one ; 

Within,  secure,  a  comrade  sleeps ; 
That  sun  shall  not  go  down  upon 

A  desert  in  the  deeps. 

XVI. 

He  knelt  —  the  man  who  half  till  then 
Forgot  his  God  in  loathing  men,  — 
He  knelt,  and  prayed  that  God  to  spare 
The  Foe  to  grow  the  Brother  there ; 
And,  reconciled  by  Love  to  Heaven, 
Forgiving  —  was  he  not  forgiven  ? 

"  Yes,  man  for  man  thou  didst  create ; 
Man's  wrongs,  man's  blessings  can  atone ! 

To  learn  how  Love  can  spring  from  Hate  — 
Go,  Hate,  —  and  live  alone." 


THE   LAY   OF    THE   MIXSTREL's   HEART.      291 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  MIXSTEEL'S  HEART. 

It  was  the  time  when  Spring  on  Earth 

Gives  Eden  to  the  yonng ;  — 
On  Provence  shone  tlie  Vesper  star; 
Beneath  fair  IMarguerite's  lattice-bar 

The  Minstrel,  Aymer,  sung  :  — 

"  The  year  may  take  a  second  birth, 

But  May  is  swift  of  wing ; 
The  Heart  whose  sunshine  lives  in  thee 
One  ]\Iay  from  year  to  year  shall  see ;  — 

Thy  love,  eternal  Spring  !  " 

The  Ladye  blushed,  the  Lad}-e  sighed, 

All  Heaven  was  in  that  Hour  ! 
The  Heart  he  pledged  was  leal  and  brave  — 
And  what  the  pledge  the  Ladye  gave  ?  — 

—  Her  hand  let  fall  a  flower ! 

And  when  shall  Aymer  claim  his  Bride  ? 

It  is  the  hour  to  part ! 
lie  goes  to  guard  tlie  Savour's  grave  ;  — 
Her  pledge,  a  flower,  the  Maiden  gave, 

And  his  —  the  IMinstrel's  heart. 

Behold,  a  Cross,  a  Grave,  a  Foe ! 

TF/;a;  else  — Man's  II»/;/  Land? 
High  deeds,  that  level  K;iuk  to  Fame, 


2D2       THE    LAY    OF    THE    MIXSTliEl/S    HEART. 

Have  boujilit  young  Aymer's  right  to  claim 
The  high-boni  Maiden's  hanch 

High  deeds  shonkl  ai^k  no  meed  below  — 

Their  meed  is  in  the  sky. 
The  poison-dart,  in  Yietory's  hour, 
Has  jiierced  the  Heart  where  lies  the  flower, 

And  hers  its  latest  sigh ! 

It  is  the  time  when  Spring  on  Earth 

Gives  Eden  to  the  young, 
And  harp  and  hymn  proclaim  the  Bride, 
Who  smiles,  Count  Eaimond,  by  thy  side,  — 

The  Maid  whom  Aymer  sung ! 

And,  darkly  through  the  wassail  mirth, 

A  pale  procession  see  !  — 
Turn,  Marguerite,  from  the  bridegroom  turn- 
Thine  Aj^mer's  heart  —  the  funei'al  iirn,  — 

His  2)ledge,  comes  back  to  thee  ! 

Lo,  on  the  Urn  how  withered  lies 
Thy  gift  —  the  scentless  flower ! 

Amid  tliose  garlands,  fresh  and  fair, 
1         That  prank  the  hall  and  glad  the  air, 
What  does  that  withered  flower  ? 

One  tear  bedewed  the  Ladye's  eyes. 

No  tears  beseem  the  day. 
The  dead  can  ne'er  to  life  return, 
"  A  marble  tomb  shall  grace  the  Urn," 

She  said  and  turned  away. 


NAPOLEOX    AT    ISOI.A    BELLA.  293 

The  marble  rose  the  Urn  above, 

Tlie  world  went  on  the  same  ; 
The  Ladye  smiled,  Count  Raimond's  bride. 
And  flowers,  like  hers,  that  bloomed  and  died, 

Each  ]\Iay  returning  came. 

The  faded  flower,  the  dream  of  love. 

The  poison  and  the  dart. 
The  tearful  trust,  the  smiling  wrong, 
The  tomb,  —  behold,  O  Child  of  Song, 

The  History  of  thy  Heart ! 


XArOLEOX  AT  ISOLA  BELLA. 

In  tho  Isola  Bella,  upon  tlie  Lago  Maggiore,  wliero  the  richest 
vegetation  of  tlio  tropics  grows  in  the  vicinity  of  tlie  Alps,  there 
is  a  lofty  laurel-trce  (Ilie  bay),  tall  as  the  tallest  oak,  on  which,  a 
few  (lays  before  tlie  battle  of  Marengo,  Napoleon  carved  the  word 
"  BATTAGLiA."  Tile  bark  has  fallen  away  from  the  inscription, 
most  of  the  letters  arc  gone,  and  tlio  few  left  are  nearly  effaced. 

I. 
O  FAIRY  island  of  a  fairy  sea, 

Wherein  Calypso  might  have  spelled  the  Greek, 
Or  Flora  piled  her  fragrant  treasury. 

Culled  from  each  shore  her  Zephyr's  wings  could 
seek.  — 

From  rocks  Avhere  aloes  blow, 

Tier  upon  tier,  Hesperian  fruits  arise  ; 
The  hanging  bowers  of  this  soft  Babylon  ; 


294  NAPOLEOX   AT   ISOI-A   BELLA. 

An  India  mellows  in  the  Lombard  skies, 

And  changelings,  stolen  from  the  Lybian  sun, 
Smile  to  yon  Alps  of  snow. 

IL 

Amid  this  gentlest  dream-land  of  the  wave, 
Arrested,  stood  the  wondrous  Corsican ; 

As  if  one  glimpse  the  better  angel  gave 

Of  the  bright  garden-life  vouchsafed  to  man 
Ere  blood  defiled  the  world. 

He  stood  —  that  grand  Sesostris  of  the  North  — 
While  paused  the  car  to  Avhich  were   harnessed 
kings ; 
And  in  the  airs,  that  lovingly  sighed  forth 
The  balms  of  Araby,  his  eagle-wings 

Their  sullen  thunder  furled. 


IIL 

And  o'er  the  marble  hush  of  those  large  brows. 
Dread  with  the  awe  of  the  Olympian  nod, 

A  giant  laurel  spread  its  breathless  boughs, 
The  prophet-tree  of  the  dark  Pj'thian  god. 

Shadowing  the  doom  of  thi-ones  ! 

What,  in  such  hour  of  rest  and  scene  of  joy, 
Stire  in  the  cells  of  that  imfathomed  brain  ? 

Comes  back  one  memory  of  the  musing  boy. 
Lone  gazing  o'er  the  yet  unmeasured  main, 

AVhose  waifs  are  human  bones  ? 


NAPOLEON   AT   ISOLA   BELLA.  295 

IV. 

To  those  deep  ej'es  doth  one  soft  dream  return  ? 

Soft  with  the  bloom  of  youth's  unrilled  spring, 
AVhen  Hope  first  fills  from  founts  divine  the  urn, 

And  rapt  Ambition,  on  the  angel's  "wing, 

Floats  first  through  golden  air  ? 

Or  doth  that  smile  recall  the  midnight  street, 
When  thine  own  star  the  solenm  ray  denied, 

And  to  a  stage-mime,*  for  obscure  retreat 

From  hungry  "Want,  the  destined  Csesar  sighed  V — 
Still  Fate,  as  then,  asks  prayer. 


Under  that  prophet-tree  thou  standest  now  ; 

Inscribe  thy  wish  upon  the  mystic  rind ; 
Hath  the  warm  human  heart  no  tender  vow 

Linked  with  sweet  household  names  V  —  no  hope 
enshrined 

Where  thoughts  are  priests  of  Peace. 

Or,  if  dire  Hannibal  thy  model  be. 

Dread  lest,  like  him,  thou  bear  the  thunder  lioiiie ! 
Perchance  ev'n  now  a  Scipio  dawns  for  thee, 

Thou  doomest  Carthage  while  thou  smitest  Rome — 
Write,  write,  "  Let  carnage  cease  !  " 


Whispers  from  heaven  have  strife  itself  informed  ;  — 
"  Peace  "  was  our  dauntless  Falkland's  latest  sigh, 

*  Talma. 


296  NAPOLEON    AT    ISOLA   BELLA. 

Navarre's  frank  Henry  fed  the  forts  he  stormed, 
Wild  Xerxes  wept  the  hosts  he  doomed  to  die  ! 
Ev'ii  ^Var  pays  dues  to  Love ! 

Note  how  harmoniously  the  art  of  Man 
Blends  Avith  the  Beautiful  of  Nature  !  see 

How  the  true  Laurel  of  the  Delian 

Shelters  the  Grace  !  —  Apollo's  peaceful  tree 
Blunts  ev'ii  the  bolt  of  Jove. 

VII. 
Write  on  the  sacred  bark  such  votive  prayer, 

As  the  mild  Power  may  grant  in  coming  years, 
Some  word  to  make  thy  memory  gentle  there  ; 

More  than  renown,  kind  thoup;ht  for  men  endears 
A  Hero  to  Mankind. 

Slow  moved  the  mighty  hand  —  a  tremor  shook 
The  leaves,  and  hoarse  winds  groaned   along  the 
wood  ; 
The  Pythian  tree  the  damning  sentence  took. 
And  to  the  sun  the  battle-word  of  blood 

Glai'cd  from  the  gashing  rind. 

VIII. 

So  thou  hast  writ  the  word,  and  signed  thy  doom : 
Farewell,  and  pass  upon  thy  gory  wa\', 

The  direful  skein  the  pausing  Fates  resume  ! 

Let  not  the  Elysian  grove  thy  steps  delay 

From  thy  Promethean  goal. 


NAPOLEOiSr   AT   ISOLA   BELLA.  297 

The  fatal  tree  the  abhorrent  word  retained, 
Till  the  last  Battle  on  its  bloody  strand 

Flung  what  wei-e  nobler  had  no  life  remained,  — 
The  crownless  front  and  the  disarmed  hand 
And  the  foiled  Titan  Soul ; 


Now,  year  by  year,  the  warrior's  iron  mark 
Crumbles  away  from  the  majestic  tree. 

The  indignant  life-sap  ebbing  from  the  bark 

Where  the  grim  death- word  to  Humanity 

Profaned  the  Lord  of  Day. 

High  o'er  the  pomp  of  blooms,  as  greenly  still. 
Aspires  that  tree  —  the  Arohetyj)e  of  Fame, 
The  stem  rejects  all  chronicle  of  ill ; 

The  bark   shrinks  back  —  the   tree  survives    the 
same  — 

The  record  rots  away. 

Baveno,  Oct.  8,  1845. 


298 


MAZARIN. 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  BEAUTIFUL,  WITHOUT. 

"  I  was  walking,  some  days  after,  in  the  new  apartments  of  liis 
palace.  I  recognized  the  approach  of  the  Cardinal  (Mazarin)  by 
the  sound  of  his  slippered  feet,  wiiich  lie  dragged  one  after  the 
otlier,  as  a  man  enfeebled  by  a  mortal  malady.  I  concealed  my- 
self behind  tlie  tapestry,  and  I  heard  liini  say,  '  II  faut  quitter 
tout  cela  ! '  ('I  must  leave  all  that ! ')  He  stopped  at  every 
step,  for  he  was  very  feeble,  and  casting  his  eyes  on  each  object 
that  attracted  him,  he  sighed  forth,  as  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart,  '  II  faut  quitter  tout  cela  !  What  pains  have  I  taken  to 
acquire  these  things  !  Can  I  abandon  tlicni  without  regret  ?  I 
shall  never  see  them  more  where  I  am  about  to  go  ! '  "  &c.  — 
JIemoires  inedits  de  Louis  Henri,  Comte  de  Brienne,  Bar- 
riere's  Edition,  vol.  ii.  p.  115. 

Serene  the  Marble  Images 

Gleamed  down,  in  lengthened  rows  ; 

Their  life,  like  the  Uranides, 
A  glory  and  repose. 

Glowed  forth  the  costly  canvas  spoil 
From  many  a  gorgeous  frame ; 

One  race  will  starve  the  living  toil, 
The  next  will  gild  the  name. 

That  stately  silence  silvering  through, 

The  steadfast  tapers  shone 
Upon  the  Painter's  pomp  of  hue, 

The  Sculptor's  solemn  stone. 

Saved  fi-om  the  deluge-storm  of  Time, 
Within  that  ark,  survey 


MAZARIN.  299 

Wliate'er  of  elder  Art  sublime 
Sur\ives  a  world's  decay ! 

There  creeps  a  foot,  there  sighs  a  breath, 

Along  the  quiet  floor ; 
An  old  man  leaves  his  bed  of  death 

To  count  his  treasures  o'er. 

Behold  the  dying  mortal  glide 

Amidst  the  eternal  Art ; 
It  were  a  sight  to  stir  with  pi-ide 

Some  pining  Painter's  heart ! 

It  were  a  sight  that  might  beguile 

Sad  Genius  from  the  Hour, 
To  see  the  life  of  Genius  smile 

Upon  the  death  of  Power. 

The  ghost-like  master  of  that  hall 

Is  king-like  in  the  land ; 
And  France's  proudest  heads  could  fall 

Beneath  that  spectre  hand. 

Veiled  in  the  Roman  pui-ple,  preys 

The  cankei--worm  within  ; 
And  more  than  Bourbon's  sceptre,  sways 

The  crook  of  Mazarin. 

Italian,  yet  more  dear  to  thee 

Than  sceptre,  or  than  crook, 
The  Art  in  which  thine  Italy 

Still  charmed  thy  glazino-  look  ! 


300  MAZAUIN'. 

So  feebly,  and  with  wistful  eyes, 

He  ci-awls  along  the  floor ; 
A  dying  man,  who,  ere  he  dies, 

Would  count  his  treasures  o'er. 

And,  from  the  landscape's  soft  repose, 
Smiled  thy  calm  soul,  Lorraine  ; 

And,  from  the  deeps  of  Raphael,  rose 
Celestial  Love  again. 

In  pomp,  which  his  own  pomp  recalls, 

The  haggard  owner  sees 
Thy  cloth  of  gold  and  banquet  halls, 

Thou  stately  Veronese ! 

While,  cold  as  if  they  scorned  to  hail 

Creations  not  their  own, 
The  Gods  of  Greece  stand  marble-pale 

Around  the  Thunderer's  throne. 

There,  Hebe  brims  the  urn  of  gold ; 

There,  Hermes  treads  the  skies ; 
There,  ever  in  the  Serpent's  fold, 

Laocoon  deathless  dies. 

There,  startled  from  her  mountain  rest, 

Young  Dian  turns  to  draAV 
The  arrowy  death,  that  waits  the  breast 

Her  slumber  failed  to  awe. 

There,  earth  subdued  by  dauntless  deeds, 
And  life's  large  labors  done, 


MAZARIN.  301 

Stands,  sad  as  Worth  -with  mortal  meeds, 
Alcmena's  mournful  son.* 

They  gaze  vipon  the  fading  form 

With  mute  immortal  eyes ;  — 
Here,  clay  that  waits  the  hungry  -worm. 

There,  children  of  the  skies. 

Then  slowly  as  he  tottered  by. 

The  old  Man,  unresigned. 
Sighed  forth :  "  Alas  !  and  must  I  die, 

And  leave  such  life  behind  ? 

"  The  Beautiful,  from  which  I  part. 

Alone  defies  decay  !  " 
Still,  while  he  sighed,  the  eternal  Art 

Smiled  down  upon  the  clay. 

And  as  he  waved  the  feeble  hand, 

And  crawled  unto  the  porch. 
He  saw  the  Silent  Genius  stand 

With  the  extinguished  torch  ! 

The  world  without,  for  ever  yours. 
Ye  stern  remorseless  Three ; 


*  Ccrtninly  tlio  Sculptor  of  the  Farnese  Hercules  well  con- 
ceived tli:it  ido.il  character  of  the  demigod,  which  makes  Aris- 
totle (Prol).  31))  class  the  grand  Personification  of  Lalior  amongst 
the  Melancholy.  It  is  tlio  union  of  mournful  repose  with  colossal 
power,  which  gives  so  profound  a  moral  sentiment  to  tliat  master- 
piece of  art. 


302  MAZARIN. 

Wliat,  from  tliat  changeful  world,  secures 
Calm  Immortality  ? 

Nay,  soon  or  late  decaj-s,  alas ! 

Or  canvas,  stone,  or  scroll ; 
From  all  material  forms  must  pass 

To  forms  afresh,  the  soul. 

'T  is  but  in  that  lohich  doth  create, 

Duration  can  be  sought ; 
A  worm  can  waste  the  canvas ;  —  Fate 

Ne'er  swept  from  Time  a  Thought. 

Lives  Phidias  in  his  works  alone  ?  — 

His  Jove  returns  to  air : 
But  wake  one  godlike  shape  from  stone, 

And  Phidian  thought  is  there  1 

Blot  out  the  Iliad  from  the  earth, 
Still  Homer's  thought  would  fire 

Each  deed  that  boasts  sublimer  worth, 
And  each  diviner  lyre. 

Like  light,  connecting  star  to  stai". 
Doth  Thought  transmitted  run :  — 

Rays  tliat  to  earth  the  nearest  are, 
Have  lonscest  left  the  sun. 


AXDRE   CnENIER.  303 

ANDRE    CIIENIER. 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  BEAUTIFUL,  VVITHIPf. 

"  Andre  Clienier,  the  original  of  whatever  is  truest  to  nature 
and  genuine  passion  in  tlie  modern  poetry  of  France,  died  at  the 
guillotine,  July  27,  1794.  In  ascending  tlio  scaffold,  he  cried,  '  To 
die  so  young  ! '  '  And  there  was  something  here  ! '  he  added, 
striking  his  forehead,  not  in  the  fear  of  death,  but  the  despair  of 
genius!  "  —  See  Thiers,  vol.  iv.  p.  83. 

WiTHix  the  prison's  dreary  girtli, 

The  dismal  night,  before 
That  morn  on  which  the  dungeon  Earth 

Shall  wall  the  soul  no  more, 

There  stood  sercnest  images 

AVhere  doomed  Genius  lay, 
The  ever  young  Uranides 

Around  the  Child  of  Clay. 

On  blackened  walls  and  rugged  floors 
Shone  cheerful,  through  the  night, 

The  stars  —  like  beacons  from  the  shores 
Of  the  still  Infinite. 

From  Ida  to  the  Poet's  cell 

The  Pain-beguilers  stole  ; 
Apollo  tuned  his  silver  shell 

And  Hebe  brimmed  the  bowl. 


304  ANDRE    CHEXIEE. 

To  grace  those  walls  lie  needed  naught 

That  tint  or  stone  Bestows  ; 
Creation  kindled  from  his  thought: 

He  called  —  and  gods  arose. 

The  visions  Poets  only  know 

Upon  the  captive  smiled 
As  bright  within  those  walls  of  woe, 

As  on  the  sunlit  child  ; 

He  saw  the  nameless,  glorious  things 
Which  youthful  dreamers  see, 

When  Fancy  first  with  murmurous  wings 
O'ershadows  bards  to  be  ; 

Those  forms  to  life  spiritual  given 

By  high  creative  hymn  ; 
From  music  born  —  as  from  their  heaven 

Are  born  the  Seraphim.* 

Forgetful  of  the  coming  day. 

Upon  the  dungeon  floor 
He  sat  to  count,  poor  child  of  clay, 

The  wealth  of  genius  o'er  ; 

To  count  the  gems,  as  yet  unwrought, 

But  found  beneath  the  soil ; 
The  bright  discoveries  claimed  by  thought, 

As  future  crowns  for  toll. 


'  Aus  den  Saiten,  wie  aus  iliren  Himmeln, 
Neugebor  'ne  Seraphim." — Schiller. 


k 


AXDUE    CIIENIER.  305 

He  sees  The  Work  his  breath  should  warm 

To  life,  fi'om  out  the  air ; 
The  Shape  of  Love  his  soul  should  form, 

Then  leave  its  birthright  there  ! 

He  sees  the  new  Immortal  rise 

From  her  melodious  sea  ; 
The  last  descendant  of  the  skies 

For  man  to  bend  the  knee  — 

He  sees  himself  within  your  shrine, 

O  hero  gods  of  Fame  ! 
And  hears  the  praise  that  makes  divine 

The  human  holy  name. 

True  to  the  hearts  of  men  shall  chime 

The  song  their  lips  repeat ; 
When  heroes  chant  the  strain,  sublime  ; 

When  lovers  breathe  it,  sweet. 

Lo,  from  the  brief  delusion  given, 

He  starts,  as  through  the  bars 
Gleams  wan  the  dawn  that  scares  from  Heaven 

And  Thought  alike  —  its  stars. 

Hark  to  the  busy  tramp  below ! 

The  jar  of  iron  doors ! 
The  gaoler's  heavy  footfall  slow 

Along  the  funeral  floors ! 
20 


306  ANDRE    CHENIER. 

The  mTirmur  of  the  crowd  that  round 
The  human  shambles  throng ; 

That  muffled,  sullen  thunder-sound  — 
The  Death-cart  gi-ates  along ! 

"  Alas,  so  soon  !  —  and  must  I  die," 
lie  groaned  forth  vuiresigncd  ; 

"  Flit  like  a  cloud  athwart  the  sky, 
And  leave  no  wrack  behind  ! 

"  And  yet  my  Genius  speaks  to  me  ; 

The  Pythian  fires  my  brain ; 
And  tells  me  what  my  life  should  be  ; 

A  Prophet  —  and  in  vain  ! 

"  O  realm  more  wide,  from  clime  to  clime, 

Than  ever  Cajsar  swayed  ; 
O  conquests  in  that  world  of  time 

My  grand  desire  surveyed  ! "  — 

Blood-red  upon  his  loathing  eyes 
Now  glares  the  gaoler's  torch : 

"  Come  forth,  the  day  is  in  the  skies, 
The  Death-cart  at  the  porch ! " 

Pass  on  !  —  to  thee  the  Parcas  give 

The  fairest  lot  of  all ;  — 
In  golden  poet-dreams  to  live. 

And,  ere  they  fade  —  to  fall ! 


THE    FIRST    VIOLETS.  307 


The  shrine  that  longest  guards  a  Name 

Is  oft  an  early  tomb  ; 
The  Poem  most  secure  of  fame 

Is  —  some  wronged  poet's  doom  ! 


THE   FIRST  VIOLETS. 

Who  that  has  loved  knows  not  the  tender  tale 

Which  flowers  reveal,  when  lips  are  coy  to  tell  ? 
"WTiose  youth  has  paused  not,  dreaming,  in  the  vale 
Where  the  rathe  violets  dwell  ? 

Lo,  where  they  shrink  along  the  lonely  brake 

Under  the  leafless,  melancholy  tree  ; 
Not  yet  the  cuckoo  sings,  nor  glides  the  snake, 
Nor  wild  thyme  lures  the  bee ; 

Yet  at  their  sight  and  scent  entranced  and  thralled, 

All  June  seems  golden  in  the  April  skies ; 
How  sweet  the  days  we  yearn  for,  —  till  fuljilled  : 
O  distant  Paradise, 

Dear  Land  to  which  Desire  for  ever  flees ; 

Time  doth  no  present  to  our  grasp  allow, 
Say  in  the  fixed  Eternal  shall  we  seize 
At  last  the  fleeting  Now  ? 

Dream  not  of  dajs  to  come  —  of  that  Unknown 
Whither  Hope  wanders  —  maze  without  a  clew ; 


308  THE    FIRST    VIOLETS. 

Give  their  true  •witchery  to  the  flowers  ,•  —  thine  own 
Youth,  in  their  jouth  renew. 

Avarice,  remember  Avhen  the  cowshp's  gold 
Lured  and  j-et  lost  its  glitter  in  thy  grasp. 
Do  thy  hoards  glad  thee  more  than  those  of  old  ? 
Tliose  withered  in  thy  clasp, 

From  these  thy  clasp  falls  palsied.     It  was  then 
That  thou  wert  rich  —  thy  coffers  are  a  lie ; 
Alas,  poor  fool,  Joy  is  the  wealth  of  men, 
And  Care  their  penury. 

Come,  foiled  Ambition,  Avhat  hast  thou  desired  ? 

Empire  and  power  ?  —  O  wanderer,  tempest-tost  1 
These  once  were  thine,  when  life's  gay  spring  inspired 
Thy  soul  with  glories  lost. 

Let  the  flow^ers  charm  thee  back  to  that  rich  time 
When  golden  Dream-land  lay  Avithin  thy  chart. 
When  Love  bestowed  a  realm  indeed  sublime  — 
The  boundless  human  heart. 

Hark,  hark  again,  the  tread  of  bashful  feet! 

Hark  the  bouglis  rustling  round  the  trysting-place  ! 
Let  air  again  with  one  dear  breath  be  sweet, 
Earth  fair  with  one  dear  face. 

Binef-hved  first  flowers  —  first  love  !    The  hours  steal 
on 
To  pi-ank  the  world  in  summer's  ^^omp  of  hue, 


LOVE    AND    DKATH.  309 

But  what  can  flaunt  beneath  a  fiercer  sun 
Worth  what  we  lose  in  j'ou  ? 

Oil  by  a  flower,  a  leaf,  m  some  loved  book 

We  mark  the  lines  that  charm  us  most ;  —  Retrace 
Thy  life ;  —  recall  its  loveliest  passage  ;  —  Look, 
Dead  violets  keep  the  place  ! 


LOVE   AND   DEATH. 

O  STRONG  as  the  eagle, 
O  mild  as  the  dove, 

IIow  like  and  how  unlike 
O  Death  and  O  Love  ! 

Knitting  earth  to  the  heaven, 
The  near  to  the  far, 

With  the  step  in  the  dust, 
And  the  eye  on  the  star. 

Ever  changing  your  symbols 
Of  liglit  or  of  gloom  ; 

Now  the  rue  on  the  altar, 
The  rose  on  the  tomb. 

From  Love,  if  the  infant 
Receiveth  his  breath, 

The  love  that  gave  life 
Yields  a  subject  to  Death. 


310  LOVE    AND   DEATH. 

When  Death  smites  the  aged, 

Escaping  above 
Flies  the  soul  re-delivered 

By  Death  unto  Love. 

And  therefore  in  wailing 
We  enter  on  life ; 

And  therefore  in  smiling 
Depart  from  its  strife. 

Thus  Love  is  best  known 
By  the  tears  it  has  shed ; 

And  Death's  surest  sign 
Is  the  smile  of  the  dead. 

The  purer  the  spirit, 
The  clearer  its  view. 

The  more  it  confoundeth 
The  shapes  of  the  two  ; 

For,  if  thou  lov'st  truly. 
Thou  canst  not  dissever 

The  grave  from  the  altar, 
The  Now  from  the  Ever 

And  if,  nobly  hoping, 
Thou  gazest  above. 

In  Death  thou  beholdest 
The  aspect  of  Love. 


GAXYMEDE.  311 


ga:nymede. 

"  When  Ganymede  was  caught  up  to  Heaven,  he  let  fall  Iiis 
pipe,  on   which  he  was   playiug  to   his   slieep." — Alexander 

Ross,  Myst.  Poet. 

Upox  the  Phrygian  hill 
He  sat,  and  on  liis  reed  the  shepherd  played. 
Sunlight  and  calm :  noon  in  the  dreamy  glade, 

Noon  on  the  lulling  vill. 

He  saw  not,  where  on  high 
The  noiseless  eagle  of  the  Heavenly  King 
Rested,  —  till  rapt  upon  the  rushing  wing 

Into  the  golden  sky. 

When  the  bright  Nectar  Hall 
And  the  still  brows  of  bended  gods  he  saw. 
In  the  quick  instinct  both  of  shame  and  awe 

His  hand  the  reed  let  fall. 

Soul !  that  a  thought  divine 
Bears  into  heaven,  —  thy  first  ascent  survey  ! 
What  charmed  thee  most  on  earth  is  cast  away  ;  —  - 

To  soar  —  is  to  resi<rn  ! 


MEMNON. 

Where  Morning  first  appears, 
Waking  the  rathe  flowers  in  their  Eastern  bed. 


312 


Aurora  still,  -n-ith  her  ambrosial  tears, 
Weeps  for  her  Memnon  dead. 

Him  the  Hesperides 
Nursed  on  the  marge  of  their  enchanted  shore, 
And  still  the  smile  that  then  the  Mother  wore 

Dimples  the  Orient  seas. 

He  died ;  and  lo,  the  while 
The  fire  consumed  his  ashes,  glorious  things, 
AVith  joyous  songs,  and  rainbow-tinted  wings, 

Hose  from  the  funeral  pile. 

He  died  ;  and  yet  became 
A  music  ;  and  his  Theban  image  broke 
Into  sweet  sounds  that  with  each  sunrise  spoke 

The  Mighty  Mother's  name. 

O  type,  thy  truth  declare ! 
Who  is  the  Child  of  the  IMelodious  Morn  ? 
AVho  bids  the  ashes  earth  receives  adorn 

With  new-born  choirs  the  air  ? 

What  can  the  Statue  be 
That  ever  answers  Avith  enchanted  voices 
Each  rising  sun  that  on  its  front  rejoices  ?  — 

Speak  !  —  "I  am  Poetry !  " 


TO    A    WITHERED    TIIEE    IN   JUNE.  313 


TO   A  WITHERED    TEEE  IN  JUNE. 

Desolate  tree !  why  are  thy  branches  bare  ? 

Wliat  hast  thou  done 
To  win  strange  winter  from  the  summer  air, 

Frost  from  the  sun  ? 

Thou  wert  not  churlish  in  thy  pahiiier  year 

Unto  the  herd ; 
Tenderly  gav'st  thou  shelter  to  the  deer, 

Home  to  the  bird. 

And  ever  once,  the  earliest  of  the  grove, 

Thy  smiles  were  gay. 
Opening  thy  blossoms  with  the  haste  of  love 

To  the  young  May. 

Then  did  the  bees,  and  all  the  insect  wings, 

Around  thee  gleam  ; 
Feaster  and  darling  of  the  gilded  things 

That  dwell  i'  the  beam. 

Tliy  liberal  coiu-se,  poor  prodigal,  is  sped; 

How  lonely  now  !  — 
IIow  bird  and  bee,  light  parasites,  have  fled 

The  leafless  bough ! 

"  Tell  me,  sad  tree,  why  are  thy  branches  bare  ? 
What  hast  thou  done 


514:  A    LAMENT. 

To  win  strange  %inter  from  the  summer  air, 
Frost  fi'om  the  sun  ?  " 

"  Never,"  replied  that  forest-hermit  lone, 
(Old  truth  and  endless  !) 

"  Never  for  evil  done,  but  fortune  flown. 
Are  we  left  friendless. 

"  Yet  wholly,  nor  for  winter  nor  for  storm 

Doth  Love  depart ! 
We  are  not  all  forsaken  till  the  worm 

Creeps  to  the  heart ! 

"  Ah  naught  without,  ■within  thee  if  decay. 

Can  heal  or  hurt  thee, 
Nor  boots  it,  if  thy  heart  itself  betray, 

Who  may  desert  thee  ! " 


A  LA^IENT. 

I  STAXD  where  I  last  stood  with  thee  ! 

Sorrow,  O  sorrow ! 
There  is  not  a  leaf  on  the  trysting  tree  ; 
There  is  not  a  joy  on  the  earth  to  me ; 

Sorrow,  O  sorrow ! 
When  shalt  thou  be  once  again  what  thou  wert  ? 
O  the  sweet  yesterdays  fled  from  the  heart ! 

Have  they  a  morrow  ?  — 
Here  we  stood,  ere  we  parted,  so  close  side  by  side  ; 


THE    SABBATH.  315 

Two  lives  that  once  part,  are  as  ships  that  divide 
When,  moment  on  moment,  there  rushes  between 

The  one  and  the  other,  a  sea ;  — 
A-h,  never  can  fall  from  the  days  that  have  been 

A  gleam  on  the  years  that  shall  be ! 


THE  SABBATH. 

Fresh  glides  the  brook  and  blows  the  gale, 
Yet  yonder  halts  the  (piiet  mill ! 

The  whirring  wheel,  the  rushing  sail, 
How  motionless  and  still ! 

Six  days  of  toil,  poor  child  of  Cain, 

Thy  strength  the  slave  of  Want  may  be ; 

The  seventh  thy  limbs  escape  the  chain,  — 
A  God  hath  made  thee  free  ! 

Ah,  tender  was  the  Law  that  gave 
This  holy  respite  to  the  breast, 

To  breathe  the  gale,  to  watch  the  wave, 
And  know  —  the  wheel  may  rest ! 

But  where  the  waves  the  gentlest  glide 
What  image  charms,  to  lift,  thine  eyes  ? 

The  spire  reflected  on  the  tide 
Invites  thee  to  the  skies. 

To  teach  the  soid  its  nobler  wortli 
This  rest  from  mortal  toils  is  given  ; 


316  ABSENT,    YET    PRESENT. 

Go,  snatch  the  brief  reprieve  from  earth 
And  pass  —  a  guest  to  Heaven. 

They  tell  thee,  in  their  dreaming  school, 
Of  Power  from  old  dominion  hurled, 

When  rich  and  poor,  with  juster  rule, 
Shall  share  the  altered  world. 

Alas  !  since  Time  itself  began, 

That  fivble  hath  but  fooled  the  honr ; 

Each  age  that  ripens  Power  in  Man, 
But  subjects  Man  to  Power. 

Yet  every  day  in  seven,  at  least, 

One  bright  republic  shall  be  kno^vn',-- 

Man's  world  awhile  hath  surely  ceast, 
AVhen  God  proclaims  his  own  ! 

Six  days  may  Rank  divide  the  poor, 
O  Dives,  from  thy  banquet-hall  j 

The  seventh  the  Father  opes  the  door, 
And  holds  His  feast  for  all ! 


ABSENT,  YET  PRESENT. 

As  the  flight  of  a  river, 
That  flows  to  the  sea. 

My  soul  rushes  ever 
In  tumult  to  thee. 


AJ'.SF.XT,    YET    PRKSENT.  317 

A  twofold  existence 

I  ain  where  thou  art; 
My  heart,  in  the  distance, 

Beats  close  to  thy  heart. 

Look  up,  I  am  near  thee, 

I  gaze  on  thy  face  ; 
I  see  thee,  I  hear  thee, 

I  feel  thine  embrace. 

As  a  magnet's  control  on 

The  steel  it  draws  to  it, 
Is  the  charm  of  thy  soul  on 

The  thoughts  that  pursue  it. 

And  absence  but  brightens 

The  eyes  that  I  miss, 
And  custom  but  heightens 

The  spell  of  thy  kiss. 

It  is  not  from  duty, 

Though  that  may  be  owed,  — 
It  is  not  from  beauty, 

Though  that  be  bestowed ; 

But  all  that  I  care  for 

And  all  that  I  know. 
Is  that,  without  wherefore, 

I  worship  thee  so. 


318  THE    LAST    CRUSADER. 

Througli  granite  as  breaketli 
A  tree  to  the  ray, 

As  a  dreamer  forsaketh 
The  grief  of  the  day, 

My  soul  in  its  fever 

Escapes  vtnto  thee ; 
O  dream  to  the  gnever, 

0  hght  to  the  tree  ! 

A  twofold  existence 

1  am  where  thou  art; 
Hark,  hear  in  the  distance 

The  beat  of  my  heart ! 


THE   LAST   CRUSADER. 

Left  to  the  Saviour's  concpering  foes, 
The  land  that  girds  the  Saviour's  grave  •, 

Where  Godfrey's  crosier-standard  rose, 
He  saw  the  crescent-banner  wave. 

There,  o'er  the  gently  broken  vale, 

The  halo-light  on  Zion  glowed ; 
There  Kedron,  with  a  voice  of  wail, 

By  tombs  *  of  saints  and  heroes  flowed ; 

*  The  valley,  Jelmsliapliat,  tlirougli  which  rolls  tho  torrent  of 
the  Kedron,  is  studded  with  tombs. 


THE    LAST    CRUSADER.  319 

There  still  the  olives  silver  o'er 

The  dimness  of  the  distant  hill; 
There  still  the  flowers  that  Sharon  bore, 

Calm  air  with  many  an  odor  fill- 

Slowly  The  Last  Crusader  eyed 

The  towers,  the  mount,  the  stream,  the  plain, 

And  thought  of  those  whose  blood  had  dyed 
The  earth  with  crimson  streams  in  vain  I 

He  thought  of  that  sublime  array, 

The  Hosts  that  over  land  and  deep 
The  Hermit  marshalled  on  their  way, 

To  see  those  towers,  and  halt  to  weep !  * 

Resigned  the  loved  familiar  lands, 

O'er  burning  wastes  the  cross  to  bear, 

And  rescue  from  the  Paynim's  hands 
The  empire  of  a  sepulchre  ! 

And  vain  the  hope,  and  vain  the  loss, 
And  Aain  the  famine  and  the  strife : 

In  vain  the  faith  that  bore  the  Cross, 
The  valor  prodigal  of  life  ! 

And  vain  was  Richard's  lion-soul, 

And  guileless  Ciodfrey's  patient  mind  — 

Like  waves  on  shore,  they  reached  the  goal, 
To  die,  and  leave  no  trace  behind  ! 

*  See  Tasso,  Ger.  Lib.  cant.  iii.  st.  vi. 


320  THE    LAST    CRUSADER. 

"  O  God  !  ■'  the  last  Crusader  cried, 
"  And  art  thou  careless  of  thine  own  ? 

For  lis  thy  Son  in  Salem  died, 

And  Salem  is  the  scoffer's  throne  ! 

"  And  shall  we  leave,  from  age  to  age, 
To  godless  hands  the  Holy  Tomb  ? 

Against  thy  saints  the  heathen  rage  — 

Launch  forth  thy  lightnings,  and  consume  ! " 

Swift,  as  he  spoke,  before  his  sight 

A  form  flashed,  white-robed,  from  above  ; 

All  Heaven  was  in  those  looks  of  light. 
But  Heaven,  whose  native  air  is  love. 

"  Alas !  "  the  solemn  vision  said, 

Thij  God  is  of  the  shield  and  spear  — 

To  bless  the  Quick  and  raise  the  Dead, 
The  Saviour-God  descended  here  ! 

"  Ask  not  the  Father  to  reward 

The  hearts  that  seek,  through  blood,  the  Son ; 
O  AVarrior !  never  by  the  sword 

The  Saviour's  Holy  Land  is  won  I " 


THE    SOULS    OF    BOOKS.  321 


THE   SOULS   OF  BOOKS. 


Sit  here  and  muse  !  —  it  is  an  antique  room  — 
High-roofed,  with  casements,  throiigli  -wliose  purple 

pane 
Unwilling  Daylight  steals  amidst  the  gloom, 
Shy  as  a  fearful  stranger. 

There  they  reign, 
(In  loftier  pomp  than  waking  life  had  known,) 
The  Kings  of  Thought !  —  not   crowned   until   the 

grave. 
When  Agamemnon  sinks  into  the  tomb, 
The  beggar  Homer  mounts  the  Monarch's  throne  ! 
Ye  ever-living  and  imperial  Souls, 
Who  rule  us  from  the  page  in  which  ye  breathe 
All  that  divide  us  from  the  clod  ye  gave  !  — 
Law  —  Order  —  Love  —  Intelligence  —  the  Sense 
Of  Beauty  —  Music  and  the  Minstrel's  wreath  !  — 
What  were  our  wanderings  if  without  your  goals  ? 
As  air  and  light,  the  gloiy  ye  dispense, 
Becomes  our  being  —  who  of  us  can  tell 
What  he  had  been,  had  Cadmus  never  taught 
The  art  that  fixes  into  form  the  thought  — 
Had  Plato  never  spoken  from  his  cell. 
Or  his  high  harp  blind  Homer  never  strung  ?  — 
Kinder  all  earth  hath  grown  since  genial  Shakespeare 

sung ! 

21 


322  THE    SOULS   OF    BOOKS. 

II. 

Hark  !  -wliile  we  muse,  without  the  Avails  is  heard 

The  various  murmur  of  the  laboring  crowd. 

How  still,  within  those  archive-cells  interred. 

The  Calm  Ones  reign  !  —  and  yet  they  rouse  the  loud 

Passions  and  tumults  of  the  circling  world ! 

From  them,  how  many  a  youthful  Tully  caught 

The  zest  and  ardor  of  the  eager  Bar ; 

From  them,  how  many  a  young  Ambition  sought 

Gay  meteors  glancing  o'er  the  sands  afar  — 

By  them  each  restless  wing  has  been  unfurled, 

And  their  ghosts  urge  each  rival's  rushing  car ! 

They  made  jon  Preacher  zealous  for  the  truth ; 

They  made  yon  Poet  Avistful  for  the  star ; 

Gave  Age  its  pastime  —  fired  the  cheek  of  Youth  — 

The  unseen  sires  of  all  our  beinijs  are,  — 


And  now  so  still !     This,  Cicero,  is  thy  heart : 

I  hear  it  beating  through  each  purple  line. 

This  is  thyself,  Anacreon  —  yet,  thou  art 

"Wreathed,  as  in  Athens,  with  the  Cnidian  vine. 

I  ope  thy  pages,  Milton,  and,  behold, 

Thy  spirit  meets  me  in  the  haunted  ground  !  — 

Suljlinie  and  eloquent,  as  while,  of  old, 

"  It  flamed  and  sparkled  in  its  crystal  bound  "  ;  * 

These  are  yourselves  —  your  life  of  life  !     The  Wise, 

(INIinstrel  or  Sage,)  out  of  their  books  are  clay  ; 

But  in  their  books,  as  from  their  graves,  they  rise, 


THE    SOULS   OF   BOOKS.  328 

Angels  —  that,  side  by  side,  upon  our  way, 
"Walk  with  and  warn  us ! 

Hark !  the  world  so  loud, 
And  tlieij,  the  movers  of  the  world,  so  still ! 

What  gives  this  beauty  to  the  grave  ?  the  shroud 
Scarce  wraps  the  Poet,  than  at  once  there  cease 
Envy  and  Hate  !     "  Nnie  cities  claim  him  dead. 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread  1 " 
And  what  the  charm  that  can  such  health  distil 
From  withered  leaves  —  of  poisons  in  their  bloom  ? 
We  call  some  books  immortal !     Do  they  lice  ? 
If  so,  believe  me,  time  hath  made  them  pure. 
In  Books,  the  veriest  wicked  rest  in  peace  — 
God  wills  that  nothing  evil  should  endure  ; 
The  grosser  parts  fly  off  and  leave  the  whole, 
As  the  dust  leaves  the  disembodied  soul ! 
Come  from  thy  niche,  Lucretius  !     Thou  didst  give 
Man  the  black  creed  of  Nothing  in  the  tomb ! 
Well,  when  we  read  thee,  does  the  dogma  taint  ? 
No ;  with  a  listless  eye  we  pass  it  o'er, 
And  linger  only  on  the  hues  that  paint 
The  Poet's  spirit  lovelier  than  his  lore. 
None  learn  from  thee  to  cavil  with  their  God, 
None  commune  with  thy  genius  to  depart 
AVithout  a  loftier  instinct  of  the  heart. 
Thou  mak'st  no  Atheist  —  thou  but  mak'st  the  mind 
Richer  in  gifts  which  Atheists  best  confute  — 
Faxcy  and  Thought  !     'T  is  these  that  from  the 

sod 
Lift  us  !     The  Life  which  soars  above  the  brute 


324  THE    SOULS    OF    BOOKS. 

Ever  and  miglitiest,  breathes  from  a  great  Poet's  lute  ! 

Lo  !  that  grim  Merriment  of  Hatred  ;  *  —  born 

Of  him,  — the  Master-Mocker  of  jNIankind, 

Beside  the  grin  of  whose  malignant  spleen, 

Voltaire's  gay  sarcasm  seems  a  smile  serene,  — 

Do  AVe  not  place  it  in  our  children's  hands, 

Leading  young  Hope  tlirough  Lemuel's  fabled  lands  ? — 

God's  and  man's  libel  in  that  foul  yahoo  !  — 

Well,  and  what  mischief  can  the  libel  do  ? 

O  impotence  of  Genius  to  belie 

Its  glorious  task  —  its  mission  from  the  sky  ! 

Swift  wrote  this  book  to  wreak  a  ribald  scorn 

On  aught  the  Man  should  love    or    Priest  should 

mourn  — 
And  lo  !  the  book,  from  all  its  ends  beguiled, 
A  harmless  wonder  to  some  happy  child  ! 

IV. 

All  books  grow  homilies  by  time  ;  they  are 
Temples,  at  once,  and  Landmarks.     In  them,  we 
Who  hut  for  them,  upon  that  inch  of  ground 
We  call  "  Thk  Puese^jt,"  from  the  cell  could  see 
No  daylight  trembling  on  the  dungeon  bar  ; 
Turn,  as  we  list,  the  globe's  great  axle  round, 
Traverse  all  space,  and  number  every  star. 
And  feel  the  Near  less  household  than  the  Far  ! 
Tiiere  is  no  Past,  so  long  as  Books  shall  live  ! 
A  disinterred  Pompeii  wakes  again 
For  him  who  seeks  yon  well ;  lost  cities  give 

*  '•  Gulliver's  Travels." 


THE    SOULS    OF    BOOKS.  325 

Up  tlieir  mitarnisliod  wonders,  and  the  reign 
Of  Jove  revives  and  Saturn  :  —  At  our  will 
Rise  dome  and  tower  on  Delphi's  sacred  hill ; 
Bloom  Cimon's  trees  in  Academe  ;  *  —  alonn; 
Lencadia's  headland,  sighs  the  Lesbian's  song ; 
With  ^-Egypt's  Queen  once  more  we  sail  the  Nile, 
And  learn  how  Avorlds  are  bartered  for  a  smile  ;  — 
Rise  up,  ye  Avails,  Avith  gardens  blooming  o'er, 
Ope  but  that  page  —  lo,  Babylon  once  more ! 

V. 
Ye  make  the  Past  our  heritage  and  homo  ; 
And  is  this  all  ?     No  ;  by  each  prophet-sage  — 
No ;  by  the  herald  souls  that  Greece  and  Rome 
Sent  forth,  like  hymns,  to  greet  the  JNIorning  Star 
That  rose  on  Bethlehem  —  by  thy  golden  page, 
jMelodious  Plato  —  by  thy  solemn  dreams, 
World-wearied  Tully  !  —  and,  above  ye  all, 
By  THIS,  the  Everlasting  INIonument 
Of  God  to  mortals,  on  Avhose  front  the  beams 
Plash  glory-breathing  day  —  our  lights  ye  are 
To  the  dark  Bourne  beyond  ;  in  you  are  sent 
The  types  of  Truths  whose  life  is  The  To-come  ; 
In  you  soars  up  the  Adam  from  the  fall; 
In  you  the  Future  as  the  Past  is  given  — 
Ev'n  in  our  death  ye  bid  us  hail  our  birth ;  — 
Unfold  these  pages,  and  behold  the'IIeavcn, 
Without  one  grave-stone  left  upon  the  Earth  '? 


*  "  Plut.  in  Vit.  Ciiii.' 


32G  THE   BEAUTIFUL    DESCENDS   NOT. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  DESCENDS  NOT. 

In  Cyprus,  looking  on  the  lovely  sky, 

Lone  by  the  marge  of  music-hannted  streams, 

A  youtliful  poet  prayed :  "  Descend  from  high, 
Tliou  of  whoso  faee  each  youthful  poet  dreams. 

Once  more,  Urania,  to  the  earth  be  given 

The  beauty  that  makes  beautiful  the  heaven." 

Swift  to  a  silver  cloudlet,  floating  o'er, 

A  rushing  Presence  rapt  him  as  he  prayed  ; 

What  he  beheld  I  know  not,  but  once  more 
The  midnight  heard  him  sighing  to  the  shade, 

"  Again,  again  unto  the  earth  be  given 

The  beauty  that  makes  beautiful  the  heaven." 

"  In  vain,"  a  sweet  voice  answered  from  the  star, 
"  Iler  grace  on  thee  Urania  did  bestow  : 

Unworthy  he  the  loftier  realms  afar, 

Who  woos  the  gods  above  to  earth  below  ; 

Rapt  to  the  Beautiful  thy  soul  must  be, 

And  not  the  Beautiful  debased  to  thee  !  " 


THE   LONG   LIFE   AND    THE   FULL   LIFE.       327 

THE  LONG  LIFE  AND  THE  FULL  LIFE. 

IMITATED  FROM  CLAUDIAN'S  "  OLD  MAN  OF  VEKONA." 

Ix  mine  own  hamlet,  where  amidst  the  green 

By  moss-grown  pales  white  gleaming  cots  are  seen, 

There  dwelt  a  peasant  in  lys  eightieth  year, 

Dear  to  my  childhood  —  now  to  memory  dear  ; 

In  the  same  hut  in  which  his  youth  had  passed 

Dwelt  his  calm  age,  till  earth  received  at  last ; 

Where  first  his  iutant  footsteps  tottering  ran, 

Propped  on  his  staff  crawled  forth  the  hoary  man  ; 

That  quiet  life  no  varying  fates  befell, 

The  patriarch  sought  no  Laban's  distant  well ; 

Of  Rothschild's  wealth,  of  Wellesley's  mighty  name. 

To  that  sealed  ear  no  faintest  murmur  came. 

His  grand  event  was  when  the  barn  took  fire, 

His  world  the  parish,  and  his  king  the  squire. 

Nor  clock  norkalend  kept  account  with  time, 

Suns  told  his  days,  his  weeks  the  Sabbath  chime ; 

His  spring  the  jasmine  silvering  round  his  door, 

And  reddening  apples  spoke  of  summer  o'er. 

To  him  the  orb  that  set  o'er  yonder  trees, 

Tired  like  himself,  lit  no  antipodes ; 

And  the  vast  world  of  human  fears  and  hopes 

Closed  to  his  sight  where  j'on  liorizon  slopes.  — 

That  beech  which  now  o'ershadows  half  the  way. 

He  saw  it  planted  in  my  grandsirc's  day  ; 

Rooted  alike  where  first  they  braved  the  weather, 


328        THE    LOXG   LIFE   AXD    THE   FULL   LIFE. 

He  and  the  oaks  he  loved  grew  old  together. 
Not  ten  miles  distant  stands  our  Connty-hciU  — 
To  him  remoter  than  to  thee  Bengal ; 
And  the  next  shire  appeared  to  him  to  be 
"What  seas  that  closed  on  Franklin  seem  to  thee. 

Thus  tranquil  on  that  happy  ignorance  bore 

The  green  old  age  still  hearty  at  fourscore ; 

To  him,  or  me  —  ■with  half  the  world  explored, 

And  half  his  years  —  did  life  the  more  afford  ? 

There  the  gray  hairs,  and  here  the  furrowed  breast ! 

Ask,  first —  is  life  a  journey  or  a  rest  ? 

If  rest,  old  Man,  long  life  indeed  was  thine ; 

But  if  a  journey  —  oh,  how  short  to  mine  ! 


M  0  A^  E  Y. 


"  'Tis  a  very  good  world  we  live  in, 
To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in ; 
But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man's  own, 
'Tis  the  very  worst  world  that  ever  was  known." 

Old  Truism,. 

,llnb,  ea  ()errfcl)t  tcr  dt^t  (Soft,  ia^  i5cl&-" 

ScmLLBB, 


J0Dc"DicntcO  to 
JOHN    FORSTER,    ESQ., 

Author  of  "  The  Lives  of  Statesmen  of  the  Commonwealth,' 

A   SLIGHT  MEMORIAL 
OF   SIXCEUE   RESPECT  AND    CORDIAL  FRIENDSHIP 

ALTHOUGH 

(FOR  WE  ARE  ALL   HUMAN  !) 

HE   HAS   IN  ONE   INSTANCE,   AND   BUT   ONE, 

SCFFERED  HIS  JUDGMENT  TO  BE  MISLED  BY  TOO  GREAT  A  REGARD  FOB 

"MONEY!" 


DRAxMATIS    PERSON^:. 


LoKD  Glossmore. 

Sir  Joitx  VESEY,Bart.,  Knight  of  the  Giielph,F.R.S..  F  S. 

Sir  Frederick  Blount. 

Stout. 

Graves. 

Evelyn. 

Captain  Dudley  Smooth, 

Sharp. 

TOKE 

Frantz,  Tailor. 
Tabouret,  Upholsterer. 
JIacFinch,  Jeweller  and  Silversmith. 
MacStucco,  Architect. 
Kite,  Horse-dealer. 
CRiaisoN,  Purlrait-painter. 
Grab,  Publisher. 
Patent,  Coach-builder. 

Members  of  the  *    *    *   Club,  Servants,  SfC. 

Lady  Franklin,  half-sister  to  Sir  John  Vesey. 

Georgina,  daiiyhter  to  Sir  John. 

Clara,  companion  to  Lady  Franklin,  cousin  to  Evelyn. 

Scene  —  London,  1840. 


MONEY 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I.  —  A  arawing-r-oom  in  Sir  JoirN  Vesey's  Aouje; 
folding-doors  at  the  brick,  zvhich  open  on  another  drawing- 
room.     To  the  right,  a  table,  with  newsjxtpei's,  books,  cfc. 
to  the  left,  a  sofa  writing-table. 

Sir  John,  Geougina. 

Sir  John  (reading  a  letter  edged  with  hlack).  Yes, 
he  says  at  two  precisely.  "  Dear  Sir  John,  as  since 
the  death  of  my  sainted  Maria,"  —  Hum  !  —  that 's 
his  wife  |  she  made  him  a  martyr,  and  now  he 
makes  her  a  saint ! 

Georgina.    Well,  as  since  her  death  ?  — 

Sir  John  {reading).  "I  have  been  living  in  cham- 
bers, where  I  cannot  so  well  invite  ladies,  you  will 
allow  me  to  bring  Mr.  Sharp,  the  lawyer,  to  read 
the  will  of  the  late  Mr.  Mordaunt  (to  which  I  am 
appointed  executor)  at  your  house,  —  your  daughter 
being  the  nearest  relation.  I  shall  be  with  you  at 
two  precisely.  —  Henry  Graves." 

Georg.  And  you  really  feel  sure  that  poor  Mr 
Mordaunt  has  made  me  his  heiress  ? 

Sir  John.    Ay,  the  richest  heiress   in   England. 


334  MONEY.  [ACT  L 

Can  you  doubt  it  ?  Are  you  not  his  nearest  rela- 
tion ?  Niece  by  your  poor  mother,  his  own  sister. 
All  the  time  he  was  making  this  enormous  fortune 
in  India  did  we  ever  miss  sending  him  little  rem- 
iniscences of  our  disinterested  afiection  ?  When 
he  was  last  in  England,  and  you  only  so  high,  was 
not  my  house  his  home  ?  Did  n't  I  get  a  surfeit  out 
of  complaisance  to  his  execrable  curries  and  pil- 
laws  V  Did  n't  he  smoke  his  hookah  —  nasty  old  — 
that  is,  poor  dear  man — in  my  best  drawing-room  ? 
And  did  n't  you  make  a  point  of  calling  him  your 
"handsome  uncle"?  —  for  the  excellent  creature 
was  as  vain  as  a  peacock, — 

Georg.    And  so  ugly,  — 

Sir  John.  The  dear  deceased  !  Alas,  he  was^  in- 
deed, —  like  a  kangaroo  in  a  jaundice !  And  if, 
after  all  these  marks  of  attachment,  you  are  not  his 
heiress,  why  then  the  finest  feelings  of  our  nature  — 
the  ties  of  blood  —  the  principles  of  justice  —  are 
implanted  in  us  in  vain. 

Georg.  Beautiful,  sir.  Was  not  that  in  your  last 
speech  at  the  Freemasons'  Tavern,  upon  the  great 
Chimney-sweep  Question  ? 

Sir  John.  Clever  girl !  —  what  a  memory  she  lias ! 
Sit  down,  Georgy.  Upon  this  most  happy  —  I  mean 
melancholy  —  occasion,  I  feel  that  I  may  trust  you 
with  a  secret.  You  see  this  fine  house  —  our  fine 
servants  —  our  fine  plate  —  our  fine  dinners :  every 
one  thinks  Sir  John  Vesey  a  rich  man. 

Georg.     And  are  you  not,  papa  ? 

Sir  John.     Not  a  bit  of  it,  —  all  humbug,  child,  — 


SCE5E  l.l  MONEY.  335 

all  humbug,  upon  my  soul !  As  you  hazard  a  min- 
now to  hook  in  a  trout,  so  one  guinea  thrown  out 
with  address  is  often  the  best  bait  for  a  hundred. 
There  are  two  rules  in  life,  —  Fiust,  Men  are 
valued  not  for  what  they  are,  but  what  they  seem 
to  be.  Secondly,  If  you  have  no  meiit  or  money 
of  your  own,  you  must  trade  on  the  merits  and 
money  of  other  people.  My  fether  got  the  title  by 
services  in  the  army,  and  died  penniless.  On  the 
strength  of  his  services  I  got  a  pension  of  400/.  a 
year ;  on  the  strength  of  4001.  a  year  I  took  credit 
for  800/.;  on  the  strength  of  800/.  a  year  I  married 
your  mother  with  10,000/. ;  on  the  strength  of 
10,000/.  I  took  credit  for  40,000/.,  and  paid  Dicky 
Gossip  three  guineas  a  week  to  go  about  everywhere 
calling  me  "  Stingy  Jack  !" 

Geor(j.     Ha  !  ha !    A  disagreeable  nickname. 

Sir  John.  But  a  valuable  reputation.  When  a 
man  is  called  stingy,  it  is  as  much  as  calling  him 
rich;  and  when  a  man's  called  rich,  why  he's  a 
man  universally  respected.  On  the  strength  of  my 
respectability  I  wheedled  a  constituency,  changed 
my  politics,  resigned  my  seat  to  a  minister,  who,  to 
a  man  of  such  stake  in  the  country,  could  offer 
nothing  less  in  return  than  a  patent  office  of  2,000/. 
a  year.  That's  the  way  to  succeed  in  life.  Hum- 
bug, my  dear! — all  humbug,  upon  my  soul. 

Georg.     I  must  say  that  you  — 

Sir  John.  Know  the  world,  to  be  sure.  Now,  for 
your  fortune.  As  I  spend  more  than  my  income,  I 
can  have  nothing  to  leave  you  ;  yet,  even  without 


336  MONEY.  [act  I. 

counting  your  uncle,  you  have  always  passed  for  an 
Leiress  on  the  credit  of  your  expectations  from  the 
savings  of  "  Stingy  Jack."  The  same  with  your 
education.  I  never  grudged  anything  to  make  a 
show,  — never  stuffed  your  head  with  liistories  and 
homilies ;  but  you  draw,  you  sing,  you  dance,  you 
walk  well  into  a  room;  and  that's  the  way  young 
ladies  are  educated  now-a-days,  in  order  to  become 
a  pride  to  their  parents,  and  a  blessing  to  their 
husband,  —  that  is,  when  they  have  caught  him. 
Apropos  of  a  husband :  you  know  we  thought  of 
Sir  Frederick  Blount. 

Georg.     Ah,  papa,  he  is  charming. 

Sir  John.  He  was  so,  my  dear,  before  we  knew 
your  poor  uncle  was  dead ;  but  an  heiress  such  as 
you  will  be  should  look  out  for  a  duke.  Where  the 
deuce  is  Evelyn  this  morning  ? 

Georg.  I  've  not  seen  him,  papa.  What  a  strange 
character  he  is  !  —  so  sarcastic  ;  and  yet  he  can  be 
agreeable. 

Sir  John.  A  humorist,  —  a  cynic  !  one  never 
knows  how  to  take  him !  My  piivate  secretary  — 
a  poor  cousin  —  has  not  got  a  shilling,  and  yet, 
hang  me  if  lie  does  not  keep  us  all  at  a  sort  of 
a  distance. 

Georg.  But  why  do  you  take  him  to  live  with  us, 
papa,  since  there 's  no  good  to  be  got  by  it  ? 

Sir  John.  There  you  are  wrong  ;  he  has  a  great 
deal  of  talent;  prepares  my  speeches,  writes  my 
pamphlets,  looks  up  my  calculations.  My  Report 
on  the  last  Commission  has  got  me  a  great  deal  of 


SCENE  a.]  MONEY.  337 

fame,  and  has  put  me  at  the  head  of  the  new  one. 
Besides,  he  is  our  cousin,  —  he  has  no  salary:  kind- 
ness to  a  poor  relation  always  tells  well  in  the  world : 
and  Benevolence  is  a  useful  virtue,  —  particularly 
when  you  can  have  it  for  nothing !  With  our  other 
cousin,  Clara,  it  was  different:  her  father  thought 
fit  to  leave  me  her  guardian,  though  she  had  not  a 
penny,  —  a  mere  useless  encumbrance;  so,  you  see, 
I  got  my  half-sister,  Lady  Franklin,  to  take  her  off 
my  hands. 

Georg.  How  much  longer  is  Lady  Franklin's 
visit  to  be  ? 

Sir  John.  I  don't  know,  my  dea-r ;  the  longer  the 
better,  —  for  her  husband  left  her  a  good  deal  of 
money  at  her  own  disposal.     Ah,  here  she  comes ! 


SCENE   II. 
Lady  Franklin,  Clara,  Sir  John,  Georgina. 

Sir  John.  My  dear  sister,  we  were  just  loud  in 
your  praises.     But  how  's  this  ?  —  not  in  mourning  ? 

Lady  F.  Wlw  should  I  go  into  mourning  for  a 
man  I  never  saw  V 

Sir  John.     Still  there  may  be  a  legacy. 

Larli/  F.  Then  there  '11  be  less  cause  for  afflic- 
tion !  Ha  !  ha !  my  dear  Sir  John,  1  'm  one  of  those 
■who  think  feelings  a  kind  of  property,  and  never 
take  credit  for  them  upon  false  pretences. 

Sir  John  {aside).  Very  silly  woman  !  But,  Clara, 
22 


338  MOXEY.  [ACT  I 

I  see  you  are  more  attentive  to  the  proper  decorum . 
yet  you  are  very,  very,  very  distantly  connected 
with  the  deceased,  —  a  third  cousin,  I  think  ? 

C/ara.  Mr.  Mordaunt  once  assisted  my  father, 
and  these  poor  robes  are  all  the  gratitude  I  can 
show  him. 

Sir  John.  Gratitude!  humjih  !  lam  afraid  the 
min.x  has  got  expectations. 

Lady  F.  So,  Mr.  Graves  is  the  executor.  —  the 
will  is  addressed  to  him?  The  same  Mr.  Graves 
who  is  always  in  black,  —  always  lamenting  his  ill 
fortune  and  his  sainted  ]\Iaria,  who  led  him  the  life 
of  a  dog  y 

Sir  John.    The  very  same.    His  liveries  are  black, 

—  his  carriage  is  black,  —  he  always  rides  a  black 
galloway,  —  and,  faith,  if  he  ever  marry  again,  I 
think  he  will  show  his  respect  to  the  sainted  Maria 
by  mari-yhig  a  black  woman. 

LaJij  F.  Ha  !  lia  !  we  shall  see.  —  (Aside.)  Poor 
Graves,  I  always  liked  him  :  he  made  an  excellent 
husband. 

Enter  Evelyn  (seats  himself,  and  takes  up  a  book 
unobserved). 

•    . 

Sir  John.     What  a  crowd  of  i-elations  this  Will 

brings  to  light !     Mr.  Stout,  the  Political  Economist, 

—  Lord  Glossmore  — 

Lady  F.  Whose  grandfather  kept  a  pawnbroker's 
shop,  and  who,  accordingly,  entertains  the  profbund- 
est  contempt  for  everything  popular,  parcenu,  and 
plebeian. 


BCESE  n.]  AIONKY.  339 

Sir  John.     Sir  Frederick  Blount  — 

Ladij  F.  Sir  Fwedewick  Blount,  who  objects  to 
the  letter  R  as  being  too  it'ougb,  and  therefore  d;rops 
its  acquaintance :  one  of"  the  new  class  of  prudent 
young  gentlemen,  who,  not  having  spirits  and  con- 
stitution for  the  hearty  excesses  of  their  predecessors, 
entrench  themselves  in  the  dignity  of  a  lady-like 
languor.  A  man  of  fashion  in  the  last  century  was 
riotous  and  thoughtless ;  in  this  he  is  tranquil  and 
egotistical.  He  never  does  anything  that  is  silly,  or 
says  anything  that  is  wise.  I  beg  your  pardon,  my 
dear ;  I  believe  Sir  Frederick  is  an  admirer  of  yours, 
provided,  on  reflection,  he  does  not  see  "  what  harm 
it  could  do  him "  to  fall  in  love  with  your  beauty 
and  expectations.  Then,  too,  our  poor  cousin  the 
scholar,  —  O,  Mr.  Evelyn,  there  you  are  ! 

Sir  John.  Evelyn,  —  the  very  person  I  wanted: 
where  have  you  been  all  day  ?  Have  you  seen 
to  those  papers  ?  —  have  you  written  my  epitaph 
on  poor  Mordaunt  ?  —  Latin,  you  know  ?  —  have  you 
reported  my  speech  at  Exeter  Hall  V  —  have  you 
looked  out  the  debates  on  the  Customs  ?  —  and,  oh, 
have  you  mended  up  all  the  old  pens  in  the  study  ? 

Georg.  And  have  you  brought  me  the  black  floss 
silk  ?  —  have  you  been  to  Storr's  for  my  ring  ?  — 
and,  as  we  cannot  go  out  on  this  melancholy  occa- 
sion, did  you  call  at  Hookh^m's  for  the  last  H  B.  and 
the  Comic  Annual  ? 

Lady  F.  And  did  you  see  what  was  really  the 
matter  with  my  bay  horse  ?  —  did  you  get  me  the 
Opera-box  ?  —  did  you  buy  my  little  Charley  hi" 
peg-top  ? 


340  MONEY.  lACT  I. 

Evelyn  (always  reading').  Certainly,  Paley  is 
right  upon  that  point;  for,  put  the  syllogism  thus 

(looking  up)  Ma'am  —  Sir  —  Miss  Vesey  —  you 

■want  something  of  me  ? Paley  observes,  that 

to  assist  even  the  undeserving  tends  to  the  better 
regulation  of  our  charitable  feelings  —  No  apologies 
—  I  am  quite  at  your  service. 

Sir  John.     Now  he 's  in  one  of  his  humors  ! 

Lady  F.  You  allow  him  strange  liberties.  Sir 
John. 

Evelyn.  You  will  be  the  less  surprised  at  that, 
madam,  when  I  inform  you  that  Sir  John  allows  me 
nothing  else.  —  I  am  now  about  to  draw  on  his 
benevolence. 

Lady  F.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  and  like  your 
spirit.  Sir  John,  I  'm  in  the  way,  I  see ;  for  I  know 
your  benevolence  is  so  delicate  that  you  never  allow 
any  one  to  detect  it !  [  Walks  aside. 

Evelyn.  I  could  not  do  your  commissions  to- 
day, —  I  have  been  to  visit  a  poor  woman,  who  was 
my  nurse  and  my  mother's  last  friend.  She  is 
very  poor,  very  —  sick  —  dying  —  and  she  owes  si.x 
•iionths'  rent ! 

Sir  Johi.  You  know  I  should  be  most  happy  to 
do  anything  for  yourself  But  the  nurse  —  (Aside. 
Some  people's  nurses  are  always  ill !)  — there  are  so 
many  impostors  about !  —  We  '11  talk  of  it  to-mor- 
row. This  most  mournful  occasion  takes  up  all  my 
attention.  (Looking  at  his  ivatch.)  Bless  me  !  so 
late  !  I  've  letters  to  write,  and  —  none  of  the  pens 
are  mended  !  \_Exit. 


SCENE  JI.]  MOXKY.  341 

Georg.  {taking  out  her  purse).  I  tliink  I  will 
give  it  to  him  —  and  yet,  if  I  don't  get  the  fortune 
after  all  !  —  Papa  allows  me  so  little  !  —  then  I  must 
have  those  ear-rings  {puts  up  the  purse).  ]\Ir. 
Evelyn,  what  is  the  address  of  your  nurse  ? 

Evelyn  (writes  and  gives  it).  She  has  a  good 
heart  with  all  her  foibles !  —  Ah  !  Miss  Vesey,  if 
that  poor  woman  had  not  closed  the  eyes  of  my  lost 
mother,  Alfred  Evelyn  would  not  have  been  this 
beggar  to  your  father. 

[Clara  looks  over  the  address. 

Georg.  I  will  certainly  attend  to  it —  {aside)  if 
I  get  the  fortune. 

Sir  John  (ccdling  without).     Georgy,  I  say  ! 

Georg.     Yes.  papa.  [Exit. 

[Evelyn  has  seated  himself  again  at  the  table  {to 
the  right)  and  leans  his  face  on  his  hands. 

Clara.  His  noble  spirit  bowed  to  this  !  —  Ah,  at 
least  here  I  may  give  him  comfort  —  {sits  down  to 
write).     But  he  will  recognize  my  hand. 

Lady  F.  What  bill  are  you  paying,  Clara?  — 
putting  up  a  bank-note  ? 

Clam.  Hush  !  —  0  Lady  Franklin,  you  are  the 
kindest  of  human  beings.  This  is  for  a  poor  person 
—  I  would  not  have  her  know  whence  it  came, 
or  she  would  refuse  it.  Would  you  ?  —  No,  —  he 
knows  her  handwriting  also ! 

Lady  F.  Will  I  —  what?  —  give  the  money 
myself?  — with  pleasure!  Poor  Clara —  Why  this 
covers  all  your  savings  —  and  I  am  so  rich  1 


342  MONEY.  [ACT  I 

Clara.  Nay,  I  would  wish  to  do  all  myself!  —  it 
is  a  pride  —  a  duty  —  it  is  a  joy  ;  and  I  have  so  few 
joys !     But,  hush !  —  this  way. 

{^Tlieij  retire  into  the  inner  room  and  converse  in 
dumb  show. 

Evehjn.  And  thus  must  I  grind  out  my  life  for- 
ever !  —  I  am  ambitious,  and  Poverty  drags  me 
down  !  — I  have  learning,  and  Poverty  makes  me  the 
drudge  of  fools!  —  I  love,  and  Poverty  stands  like  a 
spectre  before  the  altar !  But  no,  no  —  if,  as  I 
believe,  I  am  but  loved  again,  I  will  —  will  —  what  ? 
—  turn  opium-eater,  and  dream  of  the  Eden  I  may 
never  enter ! 

Lady  F.  (to  Clara).  Yes,  I  will  get  my  maid  to 
copy  and  direct  this  —  she  writes  well,  and  her  hand 
will  never  be  discovered.  I  will  have  it  done  and 
sent  instantly.  \_Exit. 

[Clara  advances  to  the  front  of  the  stage  and  seats 
herself —  Evelyn  reading  —  Enter  Sir  Fred- 
erick Blount. 


SCENE   III. 

Clara,  Evelyn,  Sir  Frederick  Blount. 

Blount.  No  one  in  the  woom !  —  O,  Miss  Doug- 
.as !  —  Pway  don't  let  me  disturb  you.  .  Where  is 
Miss  Vesey  —  Georgina  ? 

[2'aking  Clara's  chair  as  she  rises. 


SCENE  in.]  MONEY.  343 

Evelyn  (looking  up,  gives  Clara  a  cliair  and  reseats 
himself ).     (Aside.)     Insolent  puppy ! 

Clai-a.  Shall  I  tell  her  you  are  here,  Sir  Fred- 
erick ? 

Blount.  Not  for  the  world.  Vewy  pwetty  girl 
this  companion  ! 

Clara.  What  did  you  think  of  the  Panorama  the 
other  day,  cousin  Evelyn  ? 

Evelyn  (reading). 

"  I  cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room, 
A  fine  puss  gentleman  that's  all  perfume!" 

Rather  good  lines  these. 

Blount.     Sir ! 

Evelyn  (offering  the  hook).  Don't  you  think  so? 
—  Cowper. 

Blount  (declining  the  look).     Cowper  ! 

Evelyn.     Cowper. 

Blount  (shrugging  his  shoulders,  to  Clara).  Stwange 
person,  Mr.  Evelyn! — quite  a  chawacter!  —  Indeed, 
the  Panowama  gives  you  no  idea  of  Naples  —  a  de- 
lightful place.  I  make  it  a  wule  to  go  there  evewy 
second  year  —  I  am  vewy  fond  of  twavelling.  You  'd 
like  Wome  (Rome)  —  bad  inns,  but  vewy  fine 
wuins;  gives  you  quite  a  taste  for  that  sort  of 
thing  ! 

Evelyn  (reading). 
'■  How  much  a  dunce  that  has  been  sent  to  roam 
Excels  a  dunce  that  has  been  kept  at  home!  " 

Blount  (aside).  That  fellow  Cowper  says  vewy 
odd  things  !  —  Humph  !  —  it  is  beneath  me  to  c^uaw- 
well.  —  (Aloud.)     It  will  not  take  long  to  wead  the 


344  MONEY.  [ACT  t 

will,  I  suppose.  Poor  old  Mordaunt !  —  I  am  his 
nearest  male  welation.  He  was  vewy  eccentwic. 
By  the  way,  Miss  Douglas,  did  you  wemark  my 
cuwicle  ?  It  is  bwinging  cuwicles  into  fashion.  I 
should  be  most  happy  if  you  will  allow  me  to  dwive 
you  out.  Nay  —  nay  —  I  should,  upon  my  word. 
[Tri/ing  to  take  her  hand. 

Evelyn  (^starting  up).  A  Avasp  !  —  a  wasp!  — 
just  going  to  settle.  Take  care  of  the  wasp,  Miss 
Douglas  ! 

Blount.  A  wasp !  —  where  ?  —  don't  bwing  it  this 
way.  —  Some  people  don't  mind  them  !  I  've  a  par- 
ticular dislike  to  wasps  ;  they  sting  damnably  ! 

Evelyn.     I  beg  pardon  —  it 's  only  a  gad-fly. 

Enter   Servant. 

Servant.  Sir  John  will  be  happy  to  see  you  in 
his  study,  Sir  Frederick.  [_Exit  Servant. 

Blount.  Vewy  well.  Upon  my  word,  there  is 
something  vewy  nice  about  this  girl.  To  be  sure, 
I  love  Georgina — but  if  this  one  would  take  a  fancy 
to  me  (thoughtfully)  —  Well,  I  don't  see  what  harm 
it  could  do  me  !  —  Au  plaisir  ! 


SCENE  IV. 

EvELTN  and  Claea. 

Evelyn.  Clara ! 
Clara.  Cousin ! 
Evelyn.     And  you,  too,  are  a  dependant! 


SCESE  XT.]  MONEY.  345 

Clara.  But  on  Lady  Frauklln,  who  seeks  to  make 
me  forget  it. 

Eveljn.  A}-,  but  can  tlie  world  forget  it  ?  This 
insolent  condescension  —  this  coxcombry  of  admira- 
tion —  more  galling  than  the  arrogance  of  contempt ! 
Look  you  now  : — Robe  Beauty  in  silk  and  cashmere 

—  hand  Virtue  into  her  chariot  —  lackey  their  ca- 
prices —  wrap  them  from  the  winds  —  fence  them 
round  with  a  golden  circle  —  and  Virtue  and  Beauty 
are  as  goddesses  both  to  peasant  and  to  prince.  Strip 
them  of  the  adjuncts  —  see  Beauty  and  Virtue  poor 

—  dependent  —  solitary  —  walking  the  Avorld  de- 
fenceless ;  oh,  then  the  devotion  changes  its  charac- 
ter —  the  same  crowd  gather  eagerly  around  —  fools, 
fops,  libertines  —  not  to  worship  at  the  shrine,  but 
to  sacrifice  the  victim  ! 

Clara.     My  cousin,  you  are  cruel ! 

Evelyn.  Forgive  me  !  There  is  a  something  when 
a  man's  heart  is  better  than  his  fortunes,  that  makes 
even  affection  bitter.  Mortification  for  myself —  it 
has  ceased  to  chafe  me.  I  can  mock  where  I  once 
resented.  But  you  —  you,  so  delicately  framed  and 
nurtured  —  one  slight  to  you  —  one  careless  look  — 
one  disdainful  tone  —  makes  me  feel  the  true  curse 
uf  the  poor  man-  His  pride  gives  armor  to  his  own 
breast,  but  it  has  no  shield  to  protect  another  ! 

Clara.  But  I,  too,  have  pride  of  my  own  ;  I,  too, 
can  smile  at  the  pointless  insolence  — 

Evelyn.  Smile  —  and  he  took  your  hand  !  0, 
Clara,  you  know  not  the  tortures  that  I  suffer  hour- 
ly !     When  others  approach  you  —  young,  fair,  rich, 


346  MONEY.  [ACT  I. 

—  the  sleek  darlings  of  the  world  —  I  accuse  you 
of  your  very  beauty  —  I  writhe  beneath  every 
smile  that  you  bestow.  No  —  speak  not !  —  my 
heart  has  broken  its  silence,  and  you  shall  hear  the 
rest.  For  you  I  have  endured  the  weary  bondage 
of  this  house  —  the  fool's  gibe  —  the  hireling's  sneer 

—  the  bread  purchased  by  toils  that  should  have  led 
me  to  loftier  ends :  yes,  to  sec  you  —  hear  you  — 
breathe  the  same  air  —  be  ever  at  hand  —  that  if 
others  slighted,  from  one  at  least  you  might  receive 
the  luxury  of  respect :  —  for  this  —  for  this  I  have 
lingered,  suffered,  and  forborne.  O,  Clara,  we  are 
orphans  both  —  friendless  both :  you  are  all  in  the 
world  to  me  :  turn  not  away  —  my  very  soul  speaks 
in  these  words  —  I  love  you  ! 

Clara.  No  —  Evelyn  —  Alfred  —  No !  say  it  not ; 
think  it  not !  it  were  madness. 

Evelyn.  Madness !  Nay,  hear  me  yet.  I  am 
poor,  penniless  —  a  beggar  for  bread  to  a  dying 
servant.  True  !  But  I  have  a  heart  of  iron  I  I 
have  knowledge  —  patience  —  health,  —  and  my 
love  for  you  gives  me  at  last  ambition !  I  have 
trifled  with  my  own  energies  till  now,  for  I  despised 
all  things  till  I  loved  you.  With  you  to  toil  for  — 
your  step  to  support  —  your  path  to  smooth  —  and 
I  —  I  poor  Alfred  Evelyn  —  promise  at  last  to  win 
for  you  even  fame  and  fortune  !  Do  not  withdraw 
your  hand  —  this  hand  —  shall  it  not  be  mine  ? 

Clara.     Ah,  Evelyn  !     Never — never! 

Evelyn.     Never ! 

Clara.  Forget  this  folly  ;  our  union  is  impossible, 
and  to  talk  of  love  were  to  deceive  both  ! 


SCENE  IV.J  MONEY.  347 

Evelyn  (bitterly').     Because  I  am  poor  ! 

Clara.  And  /  too  !  A  marriage  of  privation  — 
of  penury  —  of  days  tliat  dread  the  morrow !  I 
have  seen  such  a  lot !     Never  return  to  this  again. 

Evelyn.  Enough  —  you  are  obeyed.  I  deceived 
myself —  ha  !  ha  !  —  I  fancied  that  I  too  was  loved. 
I,  whose  youth  is  already  half  gone  with  care  and 
toil !  —  whose  mind  is  soured  —  whom  nobody  can 
love  —  who  ought  to  have  loved  no  one ! 

Clara  (aside).  And  if  it  were  only  I  to  suffer,  or 
perhaps  to  starve  !  O,  what  shall  I  say  ?  (Aloud.) 
Evelyn  —  Cousin  ! 

Evelyn.     Madam. 

Clara.     Alfred— I  — I  — 

Evelyn.     Reject  me ! 

Clara.     Yes  !     It  is  past !  \_Exit. 

*  Evelyn.  Let  me  think.  It  was  yesterday  her 
hand  trembled  when  mine  touched  it.  And  the 
rose  I  gave  her  —  yes,  she  pressed  her  lips  to  it 
once  when  she  seemed  as  if  she  saw  me  not.  But 
it  was  a  trap  —  a  trick  —  for  I  was  as  poor  then 
as  now.  This  will  be  a  jest  for  them  all !  Well, 
courage  !  it  is  but  a  poor  heart  that  a  coquet's  con- 
tempt can  break  !  And  now,  that  I  care  for  no  one, 
the  world  is  but  a  gi-eat  chess-board,  and  I  will  sit 
down  in  earnest  and  play  with  Fortune. 

,  Enter  Lord  Glossmoke,  j>recedcd  by  Servant. 

Servant.     I  will  tell  Sir  John,  my  Lord. 

[Evelyn  takes  up  the  neivspaper. 
Gloss.     The   secretary  —  hum  !      Fine  day,  sir ; 
any  news  from  the  East  ? 


348  MONEY.  [ACT  I. 

Evelyn.  Yes  !  —  all  the  wise  men  have  gone  back 
there ! 

Gloss.  Ha !  ha  !  —  not  all,  for  here  comes  Mr 
Stout,  the  great  political  economist. 


SCENE    V. 
Stout,  Glossmgee,  Eveltw. 

Stout.     Good  morning,  Glossmore. 

Gloss.     Glossmore  !  —  the  parvenu  ! 

Stout.  Afraid  I  might  be  late  —  Been  detained 
at  the  Vestry —  Astonishing  how  ignorant  the  Eng- 
lish poor  are  !  Took  me  an  hour  and  a  half  to  beat 
it  into  the  head  of  a  stupid  old  widow,  with  nine 
children,  that  to  allow  her  three  shillings  a  week 
was  against  all  the  rules  of  public  morality  ! 

Evelyn.  Excellent !  —  admirable  !  —  your  hand, 
sir ! 

Gloss.  What !  you  approve  such  doctrines,  Mr. 
Evelyn  ?     Are  old  women  only  fit  to  be  starved  ? 

Evelyn.  Starved  !  popular  delusion  I  Observe, 
my  Lord  —  to  squander  money  upon  those  who 
starve  is  only  to  afford  encouragement  to  starva- 
tion ! 

Stout.     A  very  superior  person  that ! 

Gloss.  Atrocious  principles  !  Give  me  the  good 
old  times  when  it  was  the  dutj-  of  the  rich  to  succor 
the  distressed, 

Evelyn,     On  second  thoughts,  you  are  right,  my 


SCENE  TI.]  MONEY.  349 

Lord.  I,  too,  know  a  poor  woman  —  ill  —  djing  — 
in  want.     Shall  .s7«e,  too,  perish  ? 

Gloss.  Perish  !  horrible  !  —  in  a  Christian  coun- 
try.    Perish  !     Heaven  forbid  ! 

Ecebjn  (JiolJing  out  his  liand^.  What,  then,  will 
you  give  her  ? 

Gloss.     Ehem !     Sir  —  the  parish  ought  to  give. 

Slout.  No  I  —  No !  —  No !  Certainly  not !  {with 
great  vehemence.^ 

Gloss.  No  !  no  1  But  I  say  yes !  yes !  And  if 
the  parish  refuse  to  maintain  the  poor,  the  only  way 
left  to  a  man  of  firmness  and  resolution,  holding  the 
principles  that  I  do,  and  adhering  to  the  constitution 
of  our  fathers,  is  to  force  the  poor  on  the  parish  by 
never  civine:  them  a  farthinjr  one's  self. 


SCENE   VI. 


Sir  John,  Blount,  Lady  Franklin,  Geokgina. 
Glossmore,  Stol't,  Evelyn. 

Sir  John.  How  d'ye  do  ?  —  Ah  1  How  d'ye  do, 
gentlemen  V  This  is  a  most  melancholy  meeting ! 
The  poor  deceased  I  what  a  man  he  was  1 

Blount.  I  was  chwistened  Fwedewick  after  him  1 
He  was  my  first  cousin. 

Sir  John.  And  Georgina  his  own  niece  —  next 
of  kin  !  —  an  excellent  man,  though  odd  —  a  kind 
heart,  but  no  liver  !  I  sent  him  twice  a  year  thirty 
dozen  of  the  Cheltenham  waters.  It 's  a  comfort  to 
reflect  on  these  little  attentions  at  such  a  time  I 


350  MONEY.  [ACT  I 

Stout.  And  I,  too,  sent  him  the  Parliamentary 
debates  regularly,  bound  in  calf.  He  was  my  sec- 
ond cousin  —  sensible  man  —  and  a  follower  of 
Malthus :  never  married  to  increase  the  surplus 
population,  and  fritter  away  his  money  on  his  own 
children.     And  now  — 

Evelyn.  He  reaps  the  benefit  of  celibacy  in  the 
prospective  gratitude  of  every  cousin  he  had  in  the 
world ! 

Lady  F.     Ha !  ha  !  ha ! 

Sir  John.  Hush  !  hush !  decency,  Lady  Fi'ank- 
lin ;  decency ! 

Enter   Servant. 

Servant.     Mr.  Graves  —  Mr.  Sharp. 
Si-  John.     O,  here's  Mr.  Graves;  that's  Sharp 
the  iS.wyer,  who  brought  the  will  from  Calcutta. 


SCENE  VII. 
Gkaves,  Sharp,  Sir  John,  &c. 

Chorus  of  Sir  John,  Gloss.,  Blount,  Stout.  Ah,  Sir 
—  Ah,  Mr.  Graves  ! 

[Geokgina  holds  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Sir  John.     A  sad  occasion ! 

Graves.  But  everything  in  life  is  sad.  Be  com- 
forted, Miss  Vesey.  True,  you  have  lost  an  uncle ; 
but  I  —  I  have  lost  a  wife  —  such  a  wife  !  —  the 
first  of  her  sex  —  and  the  second  cousin  of  the  de- 


SCENE  vn.]  MONEY.  351 

funct !     Excuse  me,  Sii*  John ;  at  the  sight  of  your 
mourning  my  wounds  bleed  afresh. 

[Servants  hand  round  ivine  and  sandwiches. 

Sir  John.  Take  some  refreshment  —  a  glass  of 
wine. 

Graves.  Thank  you  !  —  (very  fine  sherry  !)  Ah ! 
my  poor  sainted  Mai'ia !  Sherry  was  her  wine : 
everytliing  reminds  me  of  Maria  !  Ah,  Lady 
Franklin  !  you  knew  her.  Nothing  in  life  can 
charm  Ae  now.  (^Aside.)  A  monstrous  fine  woman 
that! 

Sir  John.  And  now  to  business.  Evel3'n,  you 
may  retire. 

Sharp  (looking  at  his  notes).  Evelyn  —  any  rela- 
tion to  Alfred  Evelyn  ? 

Evelyn.     The  same. 

Sharp.  Cousin  to  the  deceased,  seven  times  re- 
moved. Be  seated,  sir  ;  there  may  be  some  legacy, 
though  trifling ;  all  the  relations,  however  distant, 
should  be  present. 

Lady  F.  Then  Clara  is  related:  I  will  go  for 
her.  \_Exit. 

Georg.  Ah,  Mx.  Evelyn ;  I  hope  you  will  come 
in  for  something  —  a  few  hundreds,  or  even  more. 

Sir  John.  Silence !  Hush  !  Wugh  !  ugh  !  At- 
tention ! 

\_While  the  Lawyer  opens  the  Will,  re-enter  Lady 
FiiANKLix  and  Claka. 

Sharp.  The  will  is  very  short  —  being  all  per- 
sonal property.  He  was  a  man  that  always  came 
to  the  point. 


352  MONEY.  [ACI  \. 

Sir  John.  I  wish  there  -were  more  like  him ' 
{^Groans  and  shalces  his  head.) 

l_Chorus  groan  and  shake  their  heads. 

Sharp  (reading).  "  I,  Frederick  James  Mordaunt, 
of  Calcutta,  beinu;  at  the  present  date  of  sound  mind, 
though  infirm  body,  do  hereby  give,  will  and  be- 
queath—  Imprimis,  To  my  second  cousin,  Benjamin 

Stout,  Esq.,  of  Pall  Mall,  London 

[  Chorus  exhibit  Uvehj  emotion. 
Being  the  value  of  the  Parliamentary  Debates  with 
which  he  has  been  pleased  to  trouble   me  for  some 
time  past  —  deducting  the  carriage  thereof,  which 
he  always  forgot  to  pay  —  the  sum  of  14/.  2s.  Ad." 
[Chorus  breathe  more  freelg. 

Stout.  Eh,  what?— 14/.  ?  O,  hang  the  old 
miser ! 

Sir  John.     Decency  !  —  decency  !     Proceed,  sir. 

Sharp.  "  Item.  —  To  Sir  Frederick  Blount,  Baro- 
net, my  nearest  male  relative " 

[Chorus  exhibit  lively  emotion. 

Blount.     Poor  old  boy  ! 

[Georgina  puts  her  arm  over  Blount's  chair. 

Sharp.  •  "  Being,  as  I  am  informed,  the  best-dressed 
young  gentleman  in  London,  and  in  testimony  to  the 
only  merit  I  ever  heard  lie  possessed,  the  ijum  of 
500/.  to  buy  a  dressing-case." 

[Chorus  breathe  more  f reel n ;  Geokgina  catc^ta 
her  father's  eye,  and  removes  Iter  arm. 

Blount  {laughing  confusedly).  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  Vewy 
poor  wit  —  low !  —  vewy  —  vewy  low  ! 


SCENE  VII.]  MONEY.  353 

Sir  John.     Silence,  now,  will  jou  ? 

Sharp.  "  Item.  —  To  Charles  Lord  Glossmore  — 
who  asserts  that  he  is  my  relation  —  my  collection 
of  dried  buttertlies,  and  the  jjedigree  ot"  the  Mor- 
daunts  from  the  reign  of  King  John." 

\_Chorus  as  before. 

Gloss.  Butterflies !  —  Pedigree  !  —  I  disown  the 
plebeian  ! 

Sir  John  (angrily).  Upon  my  woi'd,  this  is  too 
revolting  !     Decency  !     Go  on. 

Sharp.  "  Item.  —  To  Sir  John  Vesey,  Baronet, 
Knight  of  the  Guelph,  F.R.S.,  F.S.A.,  &c." 

[Chorus  as  before. 

Sir  John.     Hush!     iVbiy  it  is  really  interesting ! 

Sharp.  "  Who  married  my  sister,  and  who  sends 
me  every  year  the  Cheltenham  waters,  which  nearly 
gave  me  my  death,  I  bequeath  —  the  empty  bottles." 

Sir  John.     Why,  the  ungrateful,  rascally  old  — 

Chorus.     Decency,  Sir  John  —  decency  ! 

Sharp.  "  Item.  —  To  Henry  Graves,  Esq.,  of  the 
Albany "  \_Chorus  as  before. 

Graves.  Pooh  !  gentlemen  —  my  usual  luck  — 
not  even  a  ring,  I  dare  swear ! 

Sharp.  "  The  sum  of  5,000Z.J  in  the  Three  per 
Cents." 

JakIij  F.     I  wish  }-ou  joy  ! 

Graves.  Joy  —  pooh  !  Three  per  Cents  !  Funds 
sure  to  go !  Had  it  been  land,  now  —  though  only 
an  acre  !  — just  like  my  luck. 

Sharp.  "  Item.  —  To  my  niece,  Georgina  Vesey — " 
\_Choi-us  as  before. 
2.3 


354  MONEY.  lACT  I 

Sir  John.     Ah,  now  it  comes  ! 

Shcn-p.  "  The  sum  of  10,000Z.  India  stock,  being, 
with  her  flither's  reputed  savings,  as  much  as  a  single 
woman  ought  to  possess." 

Sir  John.  And  what  the  devil,  then,  does  the  old 
fool  do  with  all  his  money  ? 

Chorus.  Really,  Sir  John,  this  is  too  revolting. 
Decency  !     Hush ! 

Sharp.  "  And,  with  the  aforesaid  legacies  and 
exceptions,  I  do  will  and  bequeath  the  whole  of  my 
fortune,  in  India  Stock,  Bonds,  Exchequer  Bills, 
Three  per  Cent.  Consols,  and  in  the  Bank  of  Cal- 
cutta (constituting  him  hereby  sole  residuary  legatee 
and  joint  executor  with  the  aforesaid  Henry  Graves, 
Esq.),  to  Alfred  Evelyn,  now,  or  formerly  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge  —  [  Universal  excitement. 

Being,  I  am  told,  an  oddity,  like  myself — the  only 
one  of  my  relations  who  never  fawned  on  me  ;  and 
who,  having  known  privation,  may  the  better  em- 
ploy wealth."  And  now,  sir,  I  have  only  to  wish 
you  joy,  and  give  you  this  letter  from  the  deceased ; 
I  believe  it  is  important. 

Evelyn  [crcssing  over  to  Clara').  Ah,  Clara,  if  you 
had  but  loved  me  ! 

Clara  {turning  axvai/).  And  his  wealth,  even  moie 
than  poverty,  separates  us  forever  ! 

[Omnes  crowd  round  to  congratidate  Evelyn. 

Sir  John  (to  Georgind).  Go,  child  —  put  a  good 
face  on  it  —  he  's  an  immense  match  !  My  dear 
fellow,  I  wish  you  joy  —  you  are  a  great  man  now 
—  a  very  great  man  ! 


SCENE  vu-l  MONEY.  355 

Evelyn  (aside).     And  her  voice  alone  is  silent ! 

Lord  Gloss.     If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you  — 

Stout.     Or  I,  sir  — 

Blount.  Or  I !  Shall  I  put  you  up  at  the 
clubs  ? 

Sharp.  You  will  want  a  man  of  business.  I 
transacted  all  Mr.  Mordaunt's  affairs. 

Sir  John.  Tush,  tush  !  Mr.  Evelyn  is  at  home 
here  —  always  looked  on  him  as  a  son  !  Nothing  in 
the  world  we  would  not  do  for  him  !     Nothing  ! 

Evelyn.     Lend  me  10/.  for  my  old  nurse  ! 

^Chorus  jmt  their  hands  into  their  pockfi.tJi. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. —  An  ante-room  in  Kvelyn's  new  hovse;  at  me 
corner,  behind  a  larije  screen,  JIk.  Shakp  wrilinf/  at  a 
desk,  books  and  parchments  before  him.  —  Mk.  Ckimson, 
the  portrait-painter ;  JIis.  Grab,  the  publisher ;  JIi:.  JLvc- 
Stucco,  i/(e  architect;  Mr.  'I'abouhet. /Ae  uphulslerer; 
Mk.  !MacFinch,  the  silversmith  ;  JIr.  Patent,  the  coach- 
maker;  JIr.  Kite,  the  horse-dealer;  and  JIr.  Fkaxtz, 
the  tailor.  —  (Serv.aiits  cross  to  and  fro  the  siat/e.) 

Patent  (to  Frantz,  ahowinrj  a  drawing').  Yes,  sir , 
this  is  the  Evelyn  vis-il-vis !  No  one  more  the 
fashion  than  Mr.  Evelyn.  Money  makes  the  man, 
sir. 

Frantz.  But  de  tailor,  de  Schneider,  make  de 
gentleman  !  It  is  Mr.  Frantz,  of  St.  James's,  who 
take  his  measure  and  his  cloth,  and  who  make  de 
fine  handsome  noblemen  and  gentry,  where  do 
faders  and  de  mutters  make  only  de  ugly  little 
naked  boys ! 

MacStucco.  He  's  a  mon  o '  teeste,  Mr.  Evelyn. 
He  taulks  o'  buying  a  veela  (villa),  just  to  pool 
down  and  build  oop  again.  Ah,  Mr.  MacFinch  !  a 
design  for  a  piece  of  pleete,  eh  ? 

MacFinch  (sliowing  the  drawing).  Yees,  sir,  the 
shield  o'  Alexander  the  Great,  to  hold  ices  and 
lemonade  !     It  will  coost  two  thousand  poon' ! 

MacStucco.  And  it 's  dirt  cheap  —  ye  're  Scotch, 
arn't  ye  ? 


6CENE  I.]  MONEY.  357 

MacFinch.     Aberdounsbire  !  —  scraitch  me,  and 
I'll  scraitch  you  ! 
\_Door  at  the  back  throivn  open.  —  Enter  Evelyn. 

Evehjn.  A  levee,  as  usual.  Good  day.  Ah,  Ta- 
bouret, your  designs  for  the  draperies;  very  \vell 
And  what  do  you  want,  Mr.  Crimson  ? 

Crimson.  Sir,  if  you  'd  let  me  take  your  portrait, 
it  would  make  my  fortune.  Every  one  says  you  'I'e 
the  finest  judge  of  paintings. 

Evelyn.  Of  paintings !  paintings  !  Are  you  sure 
I'm  a  judge  of  paintings  ? 

Crimson.  O,  sir,  did  n't  you  buy  the  great  Cor- 
reggio  for  4,000/.  ? 

Evelyn.  True  —  I  see.  So  4,000/.  makes  me  an 
excellent  judge  of  paintings.  I  '11  call  on  you,  Mr. 
Crimson,  —  good  day.  Mr.  Grab  —  oh,  you  're  the 
publisher  who  once  refused  me  bl.  for  my  poem  ? 
You  are  right,  it  was  a  sad  doggerel. 

Grab.  Doggerel !  Mr.  Evelyn,  it  was  sublime  ' 
But  times  were  bad  then. 

Evelyn.     Very  bad  times  with  me. 

Grab.  But  now,  sir,  if  you  will  give  me  the 
preference,  I  '11  j^ush  it,  sir,  —  I  '11  push  it !  I  only 
publish  for  poets  in  high  life,  sir;  and  a  gentleman 
of  your  station  ought  to  be  pushed  !  —  500/.  for  the 
poem,  sir  ! 

Evelyn.  500/.  when  I  don't  want  it,  where  5/. 
once  would  have  seemed  a  fortune. 

"  Now  I  am  rich,  what  value  in  the  lines ! 
How  the  wit  brightens  —  how  the  sense  refines!  " 

[  Turns  to  the  rest,  who  surround  him 


358  :\I0NEY.  (act  .i. 

Kite.     Thirty  young  horses  from  Yorkshire,  sir  ! 

Patent  {xhoicing  drawing).     The  Evolyn  vis-^-vis  ! 

MacFinch  {showing  draiving).    The  Evelyn  salver ! 

Frantz  {opening  his  bundle,  and  with  dignity).  Sar  e, 
I  have  brought  de  coat  —  de  great  Evelyn  coat. 

Evelyn.     O,  go  to that  is,  go  home  !     Make 

me  as  celebrated  for  vis-h.-vis,  salvers,  furniture,  a.id 
coats,  as  I  already  am  for  painting,  and  shortly  sh  ill 
be  for  poetry.     I  resign  myself  to  you  —  go  ! 

\_Exeunt  MacFinch,  Patent,  §-e. 

Enter  Stout, 

Evelyn.     Stout,  you  look  heated. 

Stout.  I  hear  you  have  just  bought  the  great 
Groginhole  property. 

Evelyn.     It  is  true.     Sharp  says  it 's  a  bargain. 

Stout.  Well,  my  dear  fi-iend  Hopkins,  member 
for  Groginhole,  can't  live  another  month  —  but  the 
interests  of  mankind  forbid  regret  for  individuals  ! 
The  patriot  Popkins  intends  to  start  for  the  borough 
the  instant  Hopkins  is  dead  I  —  your  interest  will 
secure  his  election  !  —  now  is  your  time  !  put  your- 
self forward  in  the  march  of  enlightenment !  —  By 
all  that  is  bigoted,  here  comes  Glossmore ! 


SCESE  n.]  MONEY.  359 

SCENE    II. 
Stout,  Glossmore,  Evelyn  ;  Sharp  still  at  his  desk. 

Gloss.  So  lucky  to  find  you  at  home  !  Hopkins, 
of  Groginhole,  is  not  long  for  this  world.  Popkins, 
the  brewer,  is  already  canvassing  underhand  (so 
very  ungentlemanlike !).  Keep  your  interest  for 
young  Lord  Cipher  —  a  most  valuable  candidate. 
This  is  an  awful  moment  —  the  constitution 
depends  on  his  return  !     Vote  for  Cipher  ! 

Stout.     Popkins  is  your  man  ! 

Evelyn  {inusingly^.  Cipher  and  Popkins  —  Pop- 
kins and  Cipher  !  Enlightenment  and  Popkins  — 
Cipher  and  the  Constitution  !  I  am  puzzled  !  Stout, 
I  am  not  known  at  Groginhole. 

Stout.     Your  property 's  known  there  ! 

Evelyn.  But  puiuty  of  election  —  independence 
of  votes  — 

Stout.  To  be  sure :  Cipher  bribes  ahominahly. 
Frustrate  his  schemes  —  preserve  the  liberties  of 
the  borough  —  turn  every  man  out  of  his  house 
who  votes  against  enlightenment  and  Popkins  ! 

Evelyn.  Eight !  —  down  with  those  who  take  the 
liberty  to  admire  any  liberty  except  our  liberty ! 
That  is  liberty! 

Gloss.  Cipher  has  a  stake  in  the  country  —  will 
have  50,000^.  a  year  —  Cipher  will  never  give  a 
vote  without  considering  beibrehand  how  people  of 
50,000/.  a  year  will  be  affected  by  tlie  motion  ! 

Evelyn.     Eight:  for  as  without  law  there  would 


360  sroxEY.  [act  n 

be  no  property,  so  to  be  the  law  for  property  is  the 
only  proper  property  of  law  !     That  is  law  ! 

Sluut.  Popkins  is  all  for  economy  —  tliere  's  a 
sad  waste  of  the  public  money  —  they  give  the 
Speaker  5,000/.  a  year,  when  I  've  a  brother-in-law 
who  takes  the  chair  at  the  vestry,  and  who  assures 
me  contidentially  he'd  consent  to  be  Speaker  for 
half  the  money  ! 

Glo.ss.  Enough,  Mr.  Stout.  Mr.  Evelyn  has  too 
much  at  stake  for  a  leveller. 

Stout.     And  too  much  sense  for  a  bigot. 

Evehjn.  Mr.  Evelyn  has  no  politics  at  all !  Did 
you  ever  play  at  hattledoor  ? 

Both.     Battledoor  ? 

Evelyn.  Battledoor  —  that  is  a  contest  between 
two  parties :  both  parties  knock  about  something 
with  singular  skill  —  something  is  kept  up  —  high 
—  low  —  here  —  there  —  everywhere  —  nowhere  ! 
How  grave  are  the  players!  how  anxious  the  by- 
standers !  how  noisy  the  battledoors !  But  when 
this  something  falls  to  the  ground,  only  fancy —  it's 
nothing  but  cork  and  feather !  Go,  and  play  by 
yourselves  —  I  'm  no  hand  at  it ! 

Stout  (aside).     Sad  ignorance  !     Aristocrat ! 

Gloss.     Heartless  principles  !     Parvenu  ! 

Stout.  Then  you  don't  go  against  us  ?  I  'II  bring 
Popkins  to-morrow. 

Gloss.  Keep  yourself  free  till  I  present  Cipher 
to  you. 

Stout.  I  nmst  go  to  inquire  after  Hopkins.  The 
return  of  Popkins  will  be  an  era  in  history. 

lExit. 


SCENE  ii-l  MONEY.  361 

Glosx.  I  must  be  off  to  the  club  —  the  eyes  of  the 
country  are  upon  Groginhole.  If  Cipher  fail,  the 
constitution  is  gone  !  [^Exit. 

Evelyn.  Both  sides  alike  !  Money  versus  Man  ! 
Sharp,  come  here  —  let  me  look  at  you  !  You  are 
my  agent,  my  lawyer,  my  man  of  business.  I  be- 
lieve you  honest;  —  but  what  is  honesty?  —  where 
does  it  exist  ?  —  in  what  part  of  us  ? 

Sharp.     In  the  heart,  I  suppose,  sir. 

Evebpi.  Mr.  Sharp,  it  exists  in  the  breeches' 
pocket !  Observe  :  I  lay  this  piece  of  j'ellow  earth 
on  the  table  —  I  contemplate  jou  both  ;  the  man 
there  —  the  gold  here  !  Now,  there  is  many  a  man 
in  those  streets  honest  as  j'ou  are,  who  moves,  thinks, 
feels,  and  reasons  as  well'  as  we  do ;  excellent  in 
form  —  imperishable  in  soul ;  who,  if  his  pockets 
were  three  days  empty,  would  sell  thought,  reason, 
body,  and  soul  too,  for  that  little  coin  !  Is  that  the 
fault  of  the  man  ?  No  !  it  is  the  fault  of  mankind  ! 
God  made  man  ;  behold  what  mankind  have  made 
a  god  !  When  I  was  poor,  I  hated  the  world  ;  now 
I  am  rich,  I  desp'iseit!  Fools  —  knaves — h3po- 
erites !  By  the  bye.  Sharp,  send  100/.  to  the  poor 
bricklayer  whose  house  was  burned  down  yester- 
day — 

Enter  Gravks. 

Ah,  Graves,  my  dear  friend  !  what  a  world  this 
is  I  —  a  cur  of  a  world,  that  fawns  on  its  master,  and 
bites  the  beggar  !  Ha !  ha !  it  fawns  on  vie  now, 
for  the  beggar  has  bought  the  cur. 

Oraves.     It  is  an   atrocious  world.     But  astron- 


362  Mo.NKY.  [act  n. 

omers  say  that  there  is  a  ti-avelling  comet  -which 
must  set  it  on  fire  one  day,  —  and  that 's  some  com- 
fort! 

Evelyn.  Every  hour  brings  its  gloomy  lesson  — 
the  temper  sours  —  the  affections  wither  —  the 
heart  hardens  into  stone  !  Zounds,  Sharp  !  what 
do  you  stand  gaping  there  for  ?  —  have  you  no 
bowels  ?  —  why  don't  you  go  and  see  to  the  brick- 
layer? '         \_Exit  Sharp. 


SCENE  III. 
Graves  and  Evelyn. 

Evelyn.  Graves,  of  all  my  new  friends  —  and 
their  name  is  Legion  —  you  are  the  only  one  I 
esteem  ;  there  is  sympathy  between  us ;  we  take 
the  same  views  of  life.  I  am  cordially  glad  to  see 
you ! 

Graves  (^groaning).  Ah  !  why  should  you  be  glad 
to  see  a  man  so  miserable  ? 

Evelyn.     Because  I  am  miserable  myself. 

Graves.  You  !  Pshaw  !  you  have  not  been  con- 
demned to  lose  a  wife  ! 

Evelyn.  But,  plague  on  it,  man,  I  may  be  con- 
demned to  take  one  !  Sit  down,  and  listen.  I  want 
a  confidant !  Left  fatherless,  when  yet  a  boy,  my 
poor  mother  grudged  herself  food  to  give  me  educa- 
tion. Some  one  had  told  her  that  learning  was 
better  than  house  and  land ;  that 's  a  lie,  Graves. 


SOtNE  m.]  MONEY.  363 

Graves.     A  scandalous  lie,  Evelyn  ! 

Ercli/n.  On  the  strength  of  that  lie  I  was  put 
to  scliool  —  sent  to  college,  a  sizar.  Do  you  know 
what  a  sizar  is  ?  In  pride  he  is  a  gentleman  —  in 
knowledge  he  is  a  scholar  —  and  he  crawls,  about, 
amidst  gentlemen  and  scholars,  with  the  livery  of  a 
pauper  on  his  back  !  I  carried  off  the  great  prizes 
—  I  became  distinguished  —  I  looked  to  a  high  de- 
gree, leading  to  a  fellowship  ;  that  is,  an  indepen- 
dence for  myself —  a  home  for  my  mother.  One 
day  a  young  lord  insulted  me  —  I  retorted  —  he 
struck  me  —  refused  apology  —  refused  redress.  I 
was  a  sizar  !  —  a  Pariah  !  —  a  thing  to  be  struck  ! 
Sir,  I  was  at  least  a  man,  and  I  horsewhipped  him 
in  tlie  hall  before  the  eyes  of  the  whole  College  !  A 
few  days,  and  the  lord's  chastisement  was  forgotten. 
The  next  day  the  sizar  was  expelled  —  the  career 
of  a  life  blasted  !  That  is  the  difference  between 
Rich  and  Poor:  it  takes  a  whirlwind  to  move  the 
one  —  a  breath  may  uproot  the  other  !  I  came  to 
London.  As  long  as  my  mother  lived,  I  had  one  to 
toil  for;  and  I  did  toil  —  did  hope  —  did  struggle 
to  be  something  yet.  She  died,  and  then,  somehow, 
my  spirit  broke  —  I  resigned  myself  to  my  fate ;  the 
Alps  above  me  seemed  too  high  to  ascend  —  I  ceased 
to  care  what  became  of  me.  At  last  I  submitted  to 
be  the  poor  relation  —  the  hanger-on  and  gentle- 
man-lackey of  Sir  John  Vesey.  But  I  had  an 
object  in  that  —  there  was  one  in  that  house 
whom  I  had  loved  at  the  first  sight. 

Graves.     And  were  you  loved  again  ? 


364  MONKY.  [ACT  n. 

Evelyn.  I  fancied  it,  and  was  deceived.  Not  an 
hour  before  I  inherited  this  mighty  wealth  I  con- 
fessed my  love,  and  was  rejected  because  I  was 
poor.  Now,  mark :  you  remember  the  letter  which 
Sharp  gave  me  when  the  will  was  read  ? 

Graves.     Perfectly;  what  were  the  contents V 

Eveh/n.  After  hints,  cautions,  and  admonitions  — 
half  in  irony,  half  in  earnest  (Ah,  poor  Mordaunt 
had  known  the  world !),  it  proceeded  —  but  I  "11 
read  it  to  you :  —  "  Having  selected  you  as  my 
heir,  because  I  think  money  a  trust  to  be  placed 
where  it  seems  likely  to  be  best  employed,  I  now  — 
not  impose  a  condition,  but  ask  a  favor.  If  you 
have  formed  no  other  and  insuperable  attachment, 
I  could  wish  to  suggest  your  choice :  my  two  nearest 
female  relations  are  my  niece  Georgina,  and  my 
third  cousin,  Clara  Douglas,  the  daughter  of  a  once 
dear  friend.  If  you  could  see  in  either  of  these  one 
whom  you  could  make  your  Avife,  such  would  be  a 
maiTiage  that,  if  I  live  long  enough  to  return  to 
England,  I  would  seek  to  bring  about  before  I  die." 
My  friend,  this  is  not  a  legal  condition  —  the  fortune 
does  not  rest  on  it ;  yet,  need  I  say  that  my  gratitude 
considers  it  a  moral  obligation  ?  Several  months 
have  elapsed  since  thus  called  upon  —  I  ought  now 
to  decide  :  you  hear  the  names  —  Clara  Douglas  is 
the  woman  who  rejected  me  ! 

Graves.     But  now  she  would  accept  you  ! 

Evelyn.  And  do  you  think  I  am  so  base  a  slave 
to  passion,  that  I  would  owe  to  my  gold  what  was 
denied  to  my  affection  ? 


SCENE  in.1  MONEY.  365 

Graves.  But  you  must  choose  one,  in  common 
gratitude  ;  you  ovghl  to  do  so  —  yes,  there  you  are 
right.  Besides,  you  are  constantly  at  the  house  — 
the  world  observes  it :  you  must  have  raised  hopes 
in  one  of  the  girls.  Yes,  it  is  time  to  decide  between 
her  whom  you  love  and  her  whom  you  do  not ! 

Evelyn.  Of  the  two,  then,  I  would  rather  marry 
where  I  should  exact  the  least.  A  marriage,  to 
which  each  can  bring  sober  esteem  and  calm  re- 
gard, may  not  be  happiness,  but  it  may  be  content. 
But  to  marry  one  whom  you  could  adore,  and  whose 
heart  is  closed  to  you  —  to  yearn  for  the  treasure, 
and  only  to  claim  the  casket  —  to  worship  the  statue 
that  you  never  may  warm  to  life  —  Oh  !  such  a  mar- 
riage would  be  a  hell,  the  more  terrible  because 
Paradise  was  in  sight. 

Graves.  Georgina  is  pretty,  but  vain  and  frivo- 
lous. —  {Aside.')  But  he  has  no  right  to  be  fastidi- 
ous —  he  has  never  known  Maria  !  —  (^Aloud.)  Yes, 
my  dear  friend,  now  I  think  on  it,  you  iciU  be  as 
wretched  as  myself!  AVhen  you  are  married  Ave 
will  mingle  our  groans  together  ! 

Evelyn.  You  may  misjudge  Georgina ;  she  may 
have  a  nobler  nature  than  appears  on  the  surface. 
On  the  day,  but  before  the  hour,  in  which  the  will 
was  read,  a  letter,  in  a  strange  or  disguised  hand, 
signed  "  From  an  unknown  friend  to  Alfred  Evelyn" 
and  enclosing  what  to  a  girl  would  have  been  a  con- 
siderable sum,  was  sent  to  a  poor  woman  for  whom 
I  had  implored  charity,  and  wliose  address  1  had 
only  given  to  Georgina. 


366  M02>EY.  [act  a 

Graves.     Why  not  assure  yourself? 

Eoelj/n.  Because  I  have  not  dared.  For  some  • 
times,  against  my  reason,  I  have  hoped  that  it  might 
be  Clara !  {taking  a  letter  from  Ids  bosom  and  holing 
at  it.)  No,  I  can't  recognize  the  hand.  Graves,  I 
detest  that  girl. 

Graves.     "Who?  Georgina? 

Evehjn.  No;  Clara!  But  I've  already,  thank 
Heaven  1  taken  some  revenge  upon  her.  Come 
nearer.  —  {Wlusper.^i.')  I've  bribed  Sharp  to  say 
that  ]\Iordaunt's  letter  to  me  contained  a  codicil 
leaving  Clara  Douglas  20,000/. 

Graves.  And  did  n't  it  ?  How  odd,  then,  not  to 
have  mentioned  her  in  his  will ! 

Ecehjn.  One  of  his  caprices:  besides,  Sir  John 
wrote  him  word  that  Lady  Franklin  had  adopted 
her.  But  I  'm  glad  of  it  —  I  've  paid  the  money  — 
she's  no  more  a  dependant.  No  one  can  insult  her 
now  —  she  owes  it  all  to  me,  and  does  not  guess  it, 
man  —  does  not  guess  it !  —  owes  it  to  me,  —  me 
■whom  she  I'ejected ;  —  me,  the  poor  scholar  !  Ha ! 
ha !  there 's  some  spite  in  that,  eh  ? 

Graves.  You  're  a  fine  fellow,  Evelyn,  and  we 
understand  each  other.  Perhaps  Clara  may  have 
seen  the  address,  and  dictated  this  letter  after  all  1 

Evehjn.  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  '11  go  to  the  house 
this  instant ! 

Graves.  Eh?  Humph  !  Then  I  '11  go  with  you. 
That  Lady  Franklin  is  a  line  woman  !  If  she  were 
not  so  gay,  I  think  —  I  could  — 

Evelyn.  No,  no;  don't  think  any  such  thing; 
women  are  even  worse  than  men. 


SCENE   I7.J  MONEY.  367 

Graves.  True  ;  to  love  is  a  boy's  madness  I 

Evelyn.  To  feel  is  to  suffer. 

Graves.  To  hope  is  to  be  deceived. 

Evelyn.  I  have  done  with  romance  ! 

Graves.  Mine  is  buried  with  Maria  ! 

Evelyn.  If  Clara  did  but  write  this  — 

Graves.  Make  haste,  or  Lady  Franklin  will  be 
out !     A  vale  of  tears  !  —  a  vale  of  tears  ! 

Evelyn.  A  vale  of  tears,  indeed  !  \_Exeunt 

Re-enter  Guavks  for  his  hat. 

Graves.  And  I  left  my  hat  behind  me !  Just 
like  my  luck  !  If  I  had  been  bred  a  hatter,  little 
boys  would  have  come  into  the  world  Avithout 
heads.*  \_Exit. 


SCENE  IV, 

Drawing-rooms  at  Sir  John  Vesey's,  as  in  Act  I.,  Scene  I. 

Lady  Franklin,   Clara,  Servant. 

Lady  F.  Past  two,  and  I  have  so  many  places  to 
go  to !  Tell  Philipps  I  want  the  carriage  directly 
—  instantly. 

Servant.  I  beg  pardon,  my  Lady  ;  Philipps  told 
me  to  say  the  young  horse  had  fallen  lame,  and 
could  not  be  used  to-day.  [_Exit. 

*  For  this  melancholy  jest  Mr.  Graves  is  imltbtod  to  a  poor  Ital 
ian  poet. 


368  MONEY.  [act  u 

Lady  F.  Well,  on  second  thoughts,  that  is 
lucky ;  now  I  have  an  excuse  for  not  making  a 
great  many  tedious  visits.  I  must  borrow  Sir 
John's  horses  for  the  ball  to-night.  O,  Clara,  you 
must  see  my  new  turban  from  Carson's  —  the 
prettiest   thing  in    the   world,   and   so    becoming ! 

Clara.  Ah,  Lady  Franklin,  you  '11  be  so  sorry 
—  but  —  but  — 

Lady  F.     But  what  ? 

Clara.  Such  a  misfortune  !  poor  Smith  is  in 
tears  —  I  promised  to  break  it  to  you.  Your 
little  Charley  had  been  writing  his  copy,  and  spilt 
the  ink  on  the  table  ;  and  Smith  not  seeing  it  — 
and  taking  out  the  turban  to  put  in  the  pearls 
as  you  desired  —  she  —  she  — 

Lady  F.  Ha !  ha !  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  the 
ink  spoilt  it.  Ha !  ha !  —  how  well  I  can  fancy 
the  face  she  made  !  Seriously,  on  the  whole  it  is 
fortunate ;  for  I  think  I  look  best,  after  all,  in  the 
black  hat  and  feathers. 

Clara.  Dear  Lady  Franklin,  you  really  have 
the  sweetest  temper ! 

Lady  F.  I  hope  so  —  for  it  's  the  most  becom- 
ing turban  a  woman  can  wear !  Think  of  that 
when  you  marry.  Oh,  talking  of  marriage,  I  've 
certainly  made  a  conquest  of  Mr.   Graves. 

Clara.  ]\Ir.  Graves !  I  thought  he  was  incon- 
solable. 

Lady  F.  For  his  sainted  INIaria !  Poor  m^in  1 
not  contented  with  plaguing  him  while  she  Uved, 
she  must  needs  haunt  him  now  she  is  dead. 


SCESE  IV.]  MONEY.  369 

Clara.     But  why  does  he  regret  her  ? 

Lady  F.  Why  ?  Because  he  has  everything 
to  make  him  happy  —  easy  fortune,  good  health, 
respectable  character.  And  since  it  is  his  delight 
to  be  miserable,  he  takes  the  only  excuse  the 
world  will  allow  him.  For  the  rest  —  it  's  the  way 
■with  widowers ;  that  is,  whenever  they  mean  to 
marry  again.  But,  my  dear  Clara,  you  seem  ab- 
sent —  pale  —  unhappy  —  tears,  too  ? 

Clara.     No  —  no  —  not   tears.     No ! 

Lady  F.  Ever  since  Mr.  Mordaunt  left  you 
20,000Z.  every  one  admires  you.  Sir  Frederick 
is  desperately  smitten. 

Clara  {with  disdain).     Sir  Frederick! 

Lady  F.  Ah  !  Clara,  be  comforted  —  I  know 
your  secret :  I  am  certain  that  Evelyn  loves 
you. 

Clara.  He  did  —  it  is  past  now.  He  miscon- 
ceived me  when  he  was  poor ;  and  now  he  is 
rich,  it  is  not  for  me  to  explain. 

Lady  F.  My  dear  child,  happiness  is  too  rare 
to  be  sacrificed  to  a  scruple.  Why  does  he  come 
here  so  often  ? 

Clara.     Perhaps  for  Georgina  I 

Filter  Sir  John,  and  turns  over  the  hooJcs,  Sj'c,  on  the 
table,  as  if  to  look  for  the  newspaper. 

Lady  F.     Pooh  !      Georgina   is   my   niece ;   she 

is  handsome    and  accomplished  —  but  her  father's 

worMHiiess    has        oilt    her    nature  —  she    is    not 

worthy   of    Evelyn !      Behind    the     humor    of    his 

24 


370  MONEY.  [act  a. 

irony  there  is  something  noble  —  something  that 
may  yet  be  great.  For  his  sake  as  well  as 
yours   let   me   at   least  — 

Clara.  Eecommend  me  to  his  pity  ?  Ah, 
Lady  Franklin  !  if  he  addressed  me  from  dicta- 
tion, I  should  again  refuse  him.  No ;  if  he  can- 
not read  my  heart  —  if  he  will  not  seek  to  read 
it  —  let  it  break  unknown. 

Lady  F.     You  mistake  me,  my  dear  child  :    let 

me  only  tell  him  that  you  dictated  that  letter  — 

that  you  sent  that  money  to  his  old  nurse.     Poor 

^  Clara  !  it  was  your  little  all.     He  will  then  know, 

at  least,  if  avarice  be  your  sin. 

Clara.  He  would  have  guessed  it,  had  Ids 
love   been   like   mine. 

Lady  F.  Guessed  it !  —  nonsense  !  The  hand- 
writing unknown  to  him  —  eveiy  reason  to  think 
it  came  from  Georgina. 

Sir  .John  (aside').     Hum  !    Came  from  Georgina  ! 
Lady  F.     Come,   let  me  tell  him   dds.      I  know 
the  effect  it  would  have  upon  his  choice. 

Clara.     Choifce !     oh,     that    humiliating    word ! 
No,   Lady  Franklin,  no  !      Promise  me  ! 
Lady  F.     But  — 

Clara.     No  !     Promise  —  fiiithfully  —  sacredly. 
Lady  F.     Well,    I   promise. 

Clara.  You  know  how  fearful  is  my  character 
—  no  infant  is  more  timid:  if  a  poor  spider  cross 
the  floor,  you  often  laugh  to  see  me  grow  pale 
and  tremble ;  and  yet  I  would  lay  this  hand 
upon     the    block  —  I    would    walk    barefoot   over 


SCENE   IV.]  MONEY.  371 

the  ploughsliare  of  the  old  ordeal  —  to  save  Al- 
fred Evelyn  one  moment's  pain.  But  I  have 
refused  to  share  his  poverty,  and  I  should  die 
with  shame  if  he  thought  I  had  now  grown  en- 
amored of  his  wealth.  My  kind  friend,  you 
will   keep   your   promise  ? 

Lady  F.     Yes,   since   it   must   be   so. 

Clara.  Thanks.  I  —  I  —  forgive  me  —  I  am 
not   well.  \_Exit. 

Lady  F.  AVhat  fools  these  girls  are  !  —  they 
take  as  much  pains  to  lose  a  husband  as  a  poor 
widow  does  to  get  one ! 

Sir  John.  Have  you  seen  "  The  Times "  news- 
paper ?  Where  the  deuce  is  the  newspaper  ? 
I   can't   find   "  The   Times "   newspaper. 

Lady  F.  I  think  it  is  in  my  room.  Shall  I 
fetch   it? 

Sir  John.  My  dear  sister  —  you  're  the  best 
creature.     Do  !  \_Exit  Lady  Franklin. 

Ugh !  you  unnatural  conspirator  against  your 
own  family !  What  can  this  letter  be  ?  Ah !  T 
recollect   something. 

Enter  Georglna. 

Georgina.     Papa,  I  want  — 

Sir  John.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  want  well 
enough  !  Tell  me  —  were  you  aware  that  Clara 
had  sent  money  to  that  old  nurse  Evelyn  bored 
us   about   the   day   of  the    will  V 

Georg.  No !  He  gave  me  the  address,  and  I 
promised,  if — 


372  MONEY.  [act  n. 

Sir  John.    Gave  you  the  address  ?  —  that 's  lucky  ! 
Hu>h  ! 

Enter  Servant. 

Mr.  Graves  —  Mr.  Evelyn. 


SCENE   V. 


Graves,   Evelyn,    Sir  John,    Georgina,   Lady 
Franklin. 

Lad//  F.  (returning).     Here   is   the   newspaper. 

Graves.  Ay  —  read  the  newspapers  !  —  they  'U 
tell  you  what  this  world  is  made  of.  Daily  calen- 
dartT  of  roguery  and  woe  !  Here,  advertisements 
from  quacks,  money-lenders,  cheap  warehouses,  and 
spotted  boys  with  two  heads.  So  much  for  dupes 
and  impostors !  Turn  to  the  other  column  — 
police  reports,  bankruptcies,  swindling,  forgery, 
and  a  biographical  sketch  of  the  snub-nosed  man 
who  murdered  his  own  three  little  cherubs  at 
Pentonville.  Do  you  fancy  these  but  exceptions 
to  the  general  virtue  and  health  of  the  nation  ? 
—  Turn  to  the  leading  articles;  and  your  hair 
will  stand  on  end  at  the  horrible  wickedness  or 
melancholy  idiotism  of  that  half  the  population 
who  think  differently  from  yourself  In  my  day 
I  have  seen  already  eighteen  crises,  six  annihila- 
tions of  Agriculture  and  Commerce,  four  over- 
throws of  the  Church,  and  three  last  final,  awful, 


SCENE   v.]  MONEY.  373 

and  irremediable  destructions  of  the  'entire  Con- 
stitution.     And  that  's  a  newspaper  ! 

Lacbj  F.  Ha !  ha !  your  usual  vein  !  always  so 
amusing  and  good-humored  ! 

Graves  {frowning  and  very  anr/rij~).  Ma'am  — 
good-humored  !  — 

Lady  F.  Ah  !  you  should  always  wear  that 
agreeable  smile ;  you  look  so  much  younger  —  so 
much   handsomer  —  when  you  smile  ! 

Graves  (softened).  Ma'am  —  A  charming  crea- 
ture,  upon   my   word ! 

Lady  F.  You  have  not  seen  the  last  HB.  ? 
It  is  excellent.  I  think  it  might  make  you  laugh. 
But,  by  the  by,  I  don't  think  you  can  laugh. 

Graves.  Ma'am  —  I  have  not  laughed  since  the 
death  of  my  sainted  Ma — 

Lady  F.  Ah !  and  that  spiteful  Sir  Frederick 
says  you  never  laugh,  because  —  But  you  '11  be 
angry  ? 

Graves.  Angrj' !  —  pooh  !  I  despise  Sir  Fred- 
erick too  much  to  let  anything  he  says  have  the 
smallest  influence  over  me !  He  says  I  don't 
laugh,   because  — 

T-^ady  F.     You  have  lost  your  front  teeth ! 

Graves.  Lost  my  front  teeth  I  Upon  my  word  ! 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  That  's  too  good  —  capital !  Ha  ! 
ha !  ha !   (laugJilng  from   ear   to   ear). 

Lady  F.     Ha!   ha!    ha! 

[  They  retire  to  the  table  in  the  inner  draioing-room. 

Evelyn  (aside).  Of  course  Clara  will  not  ap- 
pear !  —  avoids    me   as  usual !      But  what  do  I 


374  MONEY.  [ACT  n. 

care  ?  —  "wliat  is  she  to  me  ?  Notliing !  I  '11 
swear  this  is  her  glove !  —  no  one  else  has  so 
small  a  hand  !  She  '11  miss  it  —  so  —  so !  .No- 
body 's   looking  —  I.'ll   keep  it,  just   to   vex   her. 

Sir  John  (to  Georr/.).  Yes  —  yes  —  leave  me 
to  manage :   you  took  his  portrait,  as  I  told  you  ? 

Georg.  Yes  —  but  I  could  not  catch  the  ex- 
pression.    I  got  Clara  to  touch  it  up. 

Sir  John.     That  girl 's  always  in  the  way  ! 

Enter  Captaix  Dudley  Smooth. 

Smooth.  Good  morning,  dear  John.  Ah,  Miss 
Vjsey,  you  have  no  idea  of  the  conquests  you  made 
a,i  Almack's  last  night ! 

Evelyn  {examining  him  curiously  tcMle  Smooth  is 
talking  to  Georgina).  And  that's  the  celebrated 
Dudley  Smooth ! 

Sir  John.  More  commonly  called  Deadly  Smooth! 
-  -  the  finest  player  at  Avhist,  ecarte,  billiards,  chess, 
and  picquet,  between  this  and  the  Pyramids  —  the 
sweetest  manners  !  —  always  calls  you  by  your  Chris- 
tian name.  But  take  care  how  you  play  at  cards 
with  him  ! 

Evelyn.     He  does  not  cheat,  I  suppose  ? 

Sir  John.  Hist!  No! — but  he  always  toins! 
Eats  up  a  brace  of  lords  and  a  score  or  two  of 
guardsmen  every  season,  and  runs  through  a  man's 
fortune  like  a  course  of  the  Carlsbad  waters.  He 's 
an  uncommonly  clever  fellow  ! 

Evelyn.  Clever  ?  yes !  When  a  man  steals  a 
loaf  we  cry  down  the  knavery  —  when  a  man  di- 


SCENE  r.]  MO>'KY.  375 

verts  his  neiglibor's  mill-stream  to  grind  his  own 
corn,  we  cry  up  the  cleverness! — And  everyone 
courts  Captain  Dudley  Smooth  ! 

Sir  John.  Why,  who  could  offend  him?  —  the 
best-bred,  civillest  creature  —  and  a  dead  shot! 
There  is  not  a  cleverer  man  in  the  three  kingdoms. 

Evelyn.  A  study  —  a  study  !  —  let  me  examine 
him  !     Such  men  are  living  satires  on  the  world. 

Smooth  (passing  his  arm  caressingly  over  Sir  John's 
shoulder).  My  dear  John,  how  well  you  are  look- 
ing !  A  new  lease  of  life  !  Introduce  me  to  Mr. 
Evelyn. 

Evelyn.  Sir,  it 's  an  honor  I  've  long  ardently 
desired.  [  They  bow  and  shake  hands. 

Enter  Sir  Fredekick  Blount. 

Blount.  How  d'ye  do,  Sir  John  ?  Ah,  Evelyn  — 
I  wished  so  much  to  see  you. 

Evelyn.     'T  is  my  misfortune  to  be  visible  ! 

Blount.  A  little  this  way.  You  know,  perhaps, 
that  I  once  paid  my  addwesses  to  Miss  Vesey ;  but 
since  that  vewy  eccentwic  will  Sir  John  has  shuffled 
me  off',  and  hints  at  a  pwior  attachment  —  (aside) 
which  I  know  to  be  false. 

Evelyn  (seeing  Clara).  A  prior  attachment !  — 
(Ha !  Clara  !)   Well,  another  time,  my  dear  Blount. 

Enter  Clara. 

Blount.     Stay  a  moment  —  I  want  you  to  do  me 
a  favor  with  regard  to  Miss  Douglas. 
Evelyn.    Miss  Douglas ! 


376  MONEY.  lACT  n 

Blount.  Yes ;  —  you  see,  though  Georgina  has 
gweat  expectations,  and  Stingy  Jack  will  leave  her 
all  that  he  has,  yet  she  has  only  her  legacy  of 
10,000Z.  at  the  moment  —  no  doubt  closely  settled 
on  herself  too :  Clawa  has  20,000L  And  I  think 
Clawa  always  liked   me  a  little. 

Evel//n.     You  !     I  dare  say  she  did  ! 

Blount.  It  is  whispered  about  that  you  mean  to 
pwopose  to  Georgina.  Nay,  Sir  John  more  than 
hinted  that  was  her  pwior  attachment ! 

Evelyn.     Indeed ! 
■    Blount.     Now,  as  yon  are  all  in  all  with  the  fam- 
ily, if  you  could  say  a  word  for  me  to  Miss  Douglas, 
I  don't  see  what  harm  it  could  do  me  !  —  (^Aside.)  I 
will  punish  Georgina  for  her  pwerfidy. 

Eveli/n.  'Sdeath,  man  !  speak  for  yourself!  You 
are  just  the  sort  of  man  for  young  ladies  to  like  — 
they  understand  you  —  you  're  of  their  own  level. 
Pshaw  !  you  're  too  modest  —  you  want  no  media- 
tor ! 

Blount.  ^ly  dear  fellow,  you  flatter  me.  I  'm 
•well  enough  in  my  way.  But  you,  you  know,  would 
cawwy  evewy thing  befoi-e  you  !  —  you  're  so  con- 
foundedly wich  ! 

Eveli/n  {furninrj  to  Clara).  Miss  Douglas,  what 
do  you  think  of  Sir  Frederick  Blount  V  Observe 
him.  He  is  well  dressed  —  young — tolerably  hand- 
some —  (Blount  bowing)  bows  Avith  an  air  —  has 
plenty  of  small-talk  —  everything  to  captivate.  Yet 
he  thinks  tliat,  if  he  and  I  were  suitors  to  the  same 
ladj',  I  should   be  more   successful   because  I  am 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  377 

richer.  What  say  you  r  Is  love  ar,  auction  ?  and 
do  women's  hearts  go  to  the  highest  bidder  ? 

Clara.     Their  liearts  ?  —  No. 

Evelyn.  But  their  hands  —  yes  !  You  turn  away. 
Ah,  you  dare  not  answer  that  question  ! 

Georg.  (aside).  Sir  Frederick  flirting  with  Clara? 
I  '11  punish  him  for  his  perfidy.  You  are  the  last 
person  to  talk  so,  Mr.  Eveljn  !  —  you,  whose  wealth 
is  your  smallest  attraction,  —  you,  whom  everyone 
admires,  —  so  witty,  such  taste,  such  talent!  Ah, 
1  'm  very  foolish  1 

Sir  John  (clapping  Mm  on  the  shoulder).  You 
must  not  turn  my  little  girl's  head.  Oh,  you  're  a 
sad  fellow  !  Apropos,  I  must  show  a-ou  Georgina's 
last  drawings.  She  has  wonderfully  improved  since 
you  gave  her  lessons  in  perspective. 

Georg.     No,  papa  !  —  No,  pray,  no  !    Nay,  don't ! 

Sir  John.  Nonsense,  child !  —  it 's  very  odd,  but 
she  's  more  afraid  of  you  than  of  any  one ! 

Smooth  (to  Blount.,  taking  snuff).  He  's  an  excel- 
lent father,  our  dear  John  !  and  supplies  the  place 
of  a  mother  to  her. 

[Turns  away  to  Lady  Franklin  and  Graves. 

[Evelyn  and  Georgina  seat  themselves,  and  look 
over  the  drawings  ;  Siit  John  leans  over  them  ; 
Sir  Frederick  converses  with  Clara;  Eve- 
lyn watching  them. 

Evelyn.  Beautiful !  —  a  view  from  Tivoli.  ( Death ! 
—  she  looks  down  while  he  speaks  to  her !)  Is  there 
a   little   fault   in    that   coloring  ?     (She   positively 


378  MONEY.  [hct  a 

blushes !)     But  this  Jupiter  is   superb.     (What  a 

d d  coxcomb  it  is !)     (lllsing.)   Oh,  she  certainly 

loves  him  —  I  too  can  be  loved  elsewhere  —  I  too 
can  see  smiles  and  blushes  on  the  face  of  another. 

Georg.     Are  you  not  well  V 

Evelyn.  I  beg  pardon.  Yes,  you  are  indeed  im- 
proved !     Ah,  who  so  accomplished  as  Miss  Vesey  ? 

\_Takes  up  the  drawings;  j^aijs  her  marked  attention 
in  dumb  shoiv. 

Clara.  Yes,  Sir  Frederick,  the  concert  was  very 
crowded! — Ah,  I  see  that  Georgina  consoles  him 
for  the  past !  He  has  only  praises  for  her,  nothing 
but  taunts  for  me  ! 

Blount.  I  wish  you  would  take  my  opewa-box 
next  Saturday  —  't  is  the  best  in  the  house.  I  'm 
not  wich,  but  I  spend  what  I  have  on  myself! 
I  make  a  point  to  have  evewything  the  best  in 
a  quiet  way.  Best  opewa-box  —  best  dogs  —  best 
horses  —  best  house  of  its  kind.  I  want  nothing  to 
complete  my  establishment  but  the  best  wife  ! 

Clara  (abstractedlg).  That  will  come  in  good 
time.  Sir  Frederick. 

Evelyn.  Oh,  it  will  come  —  will  it  ?  Georgina 
refused  the  trifler  —  she  courts  him  {taking  up  a  por- 
trait').    Why,  what  is  this  ?  —  my  own  — 

Georg.  You  must  not  look  at  that  —  you  must 
not,  indeed.     I  did  not  know  it  was  there  ! 

Sir  John.  Your  own  portrait,  Evelyn  !  Why, 
child,  I  was  not  aware  you  took  likenesses :  —  that  'a 
something  new.  Upon  my  word  it 's  a  strong  resem- 
blance. 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  379 

Georg.  Oh,  no  —  it  does  not  do  him  justice. 
Give  it  to  me.  I  will  tear  it.  (^Aside.^  That  odious 
Sir  Frederick  ! 

Evelyn.     Nay,  you  shall  not. 

Clara.  So  —  so  —  he  loves  her,  then  !  Misery  — 
misery  !  But  he  shall  not  perceive  it !  No  —  no 
—  I  can  be  proud  too.  Ha  !  ha !  —  Sir  Frederick  — 
excellent  —  excellent  —  you  are  so  entertaining  — 
ha!  ha!  Qaughs  hijslericallij). 

Evelyn.  Oh,  the  affectation  of  coquettes  —  they 
cannot  even  laugh  naturally  ! 

[Clara  looks  at  Mm  reproachfully,  and  ivalks  aside 
with  Sir  Frkderick. 

But  where  is  the  new  guitar  you  meant  to  buy, 
Mivs  Vesey  —  the  one  inlaid  with  tortoise-shell  ?  It 
is  nearly  a  year  since  you  set  your  heart  on  it,  and 
I  don't  see  it  yet ! 

Sir  John  Qaking  him  aside  conjideyitially).  The 
guitar  —  oh,  to  tell  you  a  secret  —  she  applied  the 
money  I  gave  her  for  it  to  a  case  of  charity  several 
months  ago  —  the  very  day  the  will  was  read.  I  saw 
the  letter  lying  on  the  table,  with  the  money  in  it. 
]\Iind,  not  a  word  to  her  —  she  'd  never  forgive  me ! 

Evelyn.  Letter  !  —  money !  What  was  the  name 
of  the  person  she  relieved?  — not  Stanton? 

Sir  .John.     I  don't  remember,  indeed. 

Evelyn  (Jakiny  out  the  letter).  This  is  not  her 
hand ! 

Sir  John.  No  !  I  observed  at  the  time  it  was  not 
her  hand,  but  I  got  out  from  her  that  she  did  not 
wish  the  thing  to  be  known,  and  had  emj^loyed  some 


380  MONEY.  [act  u 

one  else  to  copy  it.  May  I  see  the  letter  ?  Yes,  I 
think  this  is  the  wording.  But  I  did  not  mean  to 
tell  you  what  case  of  charity  it  was.  I  promised 
Georgy  I  would  not.  Still,  how  did  she  know  Mrs. 
Stanton's  address  V  —  you  never  gave  it  to  me  ! 

Evelyn.     I  gave  it  to  her,  Sir  John. 

Clara  (at  the  distance).  Yes,  I  '11  go  to  the  opera, 
if  Lady  Franklin  will.  Do  go,  dear  Lady  Frank- 
lin !  —  On  Saturday,  then,  Sir  Frederick. 

\_Exit  Blount. 

Evelyn.  Sir  John,  to  a  man  like  me,  this  simple 
act  of  unostentatious  generosity  is  worth  all  the 
accomplishments  in  the  world.  A  good  heart  —  a 
tender  disposition  —  a  charity  that  shuns  the  day  — 
a  modesty  that  blushes  at  its  own  excellence  —  an 
impulse  towards  something  more  divine  than  Mam- 
mon; —  such  are  the  true  accomplishments  which 
preserve  beauty  forever  young.  Such  I  have 
souglit  in  the  pai'tner  I  would  take  for  life;  —  such 
have  I  found  —  alas !  not  where  I  had  di-eamed  !  — 
Miss  Vesey,  I  will  be  honest  —  I  say,  then,  frankly 
—  (as  Clara  approaches,  raising  his  voice  and  looking 
fixedly  at  her)  —  I  have  loved  another  —  deeply  — 
truly  —  bitterly  —  vainly  !  I  cannot  offer  to  you,  as 
I  did  to  her,  the  fair  first  love  of  the  human  heart  — 
rich  with  all  its  blossoms  and  its  verdure.  But  if 
esteem  —  if  gratitude  —  if  an  earnest  resolve  to 
conquer  every  recollection  that  would  wander  from 
vour  image  ;  —  if  these  can  tempt  you  to  accept  my 
hand  and  fortune,  my  life  shall  be  a  study  to  deserve 
your  confidence. 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  381 

[Clara  stands  motionless,  clasping  her  hands,  and 
then  slowly  seats  herself. 

Sir  John.     The  happiest  day  of  my  life  ! 

[Clara  ya//s  back  in  her  chair. 

Evelyn  (^dartinfj  forward).  (Aside.)  She  is  pale  ; 
she  faints !  What  have  I  done  ?  Oh  Heaven  !  — 
Clara  ! 

Clara  (rising  roith  a  smile).  Be  happy,  my  cousin 
—  b«  happy!  Yes,  with  my  whole  heart  I  sav  it  — 
be  happy,  Alfred  Evelyn  I 


ACT  in. 

Scene  I.  —  The  drawing-rooms  in  Sir  John  Vesey's  house. 
Sir  John,  Geokgina. 

Sir  John.  And  he  has  not  pressed  you  to  fix  the 
■wedding-day  ? 

Georg.  No  ;  and  since  he  proposed  he  comes 
here  so  seldom,  and  seems  so  gloomy.  Heigho  1 
Poor  Sir  Frederick  was  twenty  times  more  amus- 
ing. 

Sir  John.     But  Evelyn  is  fifty  times  as  rich  ! 

Georg.     Sir  Frederick  dresses  so  well ! 

Sir  John.  You  '11  have  magnificent  diamonds ; 
but  a  word  with  you  :  I  saw  you  yesterday  in  the 
square  with  Sir  Frederick;  that  must  not  happen 
again.  When  a  young  lady  is  engaged  to  one  man, 
nothing  is  so  indecorous  as  to  flirt  with  another.  It 
might  endanger  your  marriage  itself.  O,  it 's  highly 
indecorous  ! 

Georg.  Don't  be  afraid,  papa,  —  he  takes  up 
with  Clara. 

Sir  John.     Who,  Evelyn  ? 

Georg.  Sir  Frederick.  Heigho  !  —  I  hate  artful 
girls. 

Sir  John.  The  settlements  will  be  splendid  !  if 
anything  happens,  nothing  can  be  handsomer  than 
your  jointure. 


;<CENE  I-l  MONEY.  383 

Georg.  My  own  kind  papa,  you  always  put 
things  so  pleasantly.  But  do  you  not  fear  lest  he 
discover  that  Clara  wrote  the  letter  '? 

Sir  John.  No ;  and  I  shall  get  Clara  out  of  the 
house.  But  there  is  something  else  that  makes  me 
very  uneasy.  You  know  that  no  sooner  did  Evelyn 
come  into  possession  of  his  fortune  than  he  launched 
out  in  the  style  of  a  prince.  His  house  in  London 
is  a  palace,  and  he  has  bought  a  great  estate  in  the 
country.  Look  how  he  lives!  —  Balls  —  banquets 
—  fine  arts  —  fiddlers  —  charities  —  and  the  Devil 
to  pay! 

Georg.     But  if  he  can  afford  it  — 

Sir  John.  Oh  !  so  long  as  he  stopped  there  I  had 
no  apprehension  ;  but  since  he  proposed  for  you  he 
is  more  extravagant  than  ever.  They  say  he  has 
taken  to  gambling :  and  he  is  always  with  Captain 
Smooth.  No  fortune  can  stand  Deadly  Smooth. 
If  he  gets  into  a  scrape  he  may  fall  off  from  the  set- 
tlements.    We  must  press  the  marriage  at  once. 

Georg.  Heigho  !  Poor  Frederick  !  You  don't 
think  he  is  really  attached  to  Clara  ! 

Sir  John.  Upon  my  Avord,  I  can't  say.  Put  on 
your  bonnet,  and  come  to  Storr  and  Mortimer's  to 
choose  the  jewels. 

Georg.  The  jewels  ;  —  yes  —  the  drive  will  do 
me  good.  So  you  '11  send  away  Clara  '?  —  she  's  so 
very  deceitful. 

Sir  John.  Never  fear,  —  yes  —  tell  her  to  come 
to  me.  [Exit  Geokgixa. 

Yes ;  I  must  press  on  this  marriage ;   Georgina 


384  MONEY.  [act  IIT. 

has  not  wit  enough  to  manage  ]iim,  —  at  least  till 
he  's  her  husband,  and  then  all  women  find  it  smooth 
sailing.  This  match  will  make  me  a  man  of  pro- 
digious importance  !  I  suspect  he  '11  give  me  up  her 
ten  thousand  pounds.  I  can't  tliink  of  his  taking  to 
gambling,  for  I  love  him  as  a  son,  —  and  I  look  on 
his  money  as  my  own. 


SCENE    II. 
Clara  and  Sir  John. 

Sir  John.     Clara,  my  love  ! 

Clara.     Sir  — 

Sir  John.  IMy  dear,  what  I  am  going  to  say  may 
appear  a  little  rude  and  unkind,  but  you  know  my 
character  is  frankness.  To  the  point,  then  ;  my 
poor  child,  I  am  aware  of  your  attachment  to  Mr. 
Evelyn  — ■ 

Clara.     Sir  !  my  attachment.  ? 

Sir  John.  It  is  generally  remarked.  Lady  Kind 
says  you  are  falling  away.  My  poor  girl,  I  pity  you, 
—  I  do,  indeed  !  Now,  there  's  that  letter  you  wrote 
to  his  old  nurse,  —  it  has  got  about  somehow,  —  and 
the  world  is  so  ill-natured.  I  don't  know  if  I  did 
right ;  but  after  he  had  proposed  to  Georgy  —  (of 
course  not  before  !)  —  I  thought  it  so  vmpleasant  foi 
you,  as  a  young  lady,  to  be  suspected  of  anything 
forward  with  respect  to  a  man  who  was  not  attached 
to  you,  that  I  rather  let  it  be  supposed  that  Ge>^'igy 
herself  wrote  the  letter. 


SCENE  II.]  MONEY.  385 

Clara.  Sir,  I  don't  know  wliat  right  you  Lad 
to  — 

Sir  John.  '^Cliat 's  very  true,  my  dear  :  and  I've 
been  thinking  since  that  I  ought  perhaps  to  tell  Mr. 
Evelyn  that  the  letter  was  yours,  —  shall  I  ? 

Clara.     No,  sir  ;  I  beg  you  will  not.     I  —  I  — 

[  Weeps. 

Sir  John.  My  dear  Clara,  don't  cry ;  I  would 
not  have  said  this  for  the  world,  if  I  was  not  a  little 
anxious  about  my  own  girl.  Georgina  is  so  un- 
happy at  what  every  one  says  of  your  attach- 
ment — 

Cki.''z.     Every  one  ?     O,  torture  ! 

Sir  John.  That  it  preys  on  her  spirits, —  it  even 
irritates  her  temper !  You  see,  though  the  marriage 
will  take  place  almost  immediately,  Mr.  Evelyn  does 
not  come  so  often  as  he  ouglit.  In  a  word,  I  fear 
these  little  jealousies  and  suspicions  will  tend  to 
irabitter  their  future  union.  —  I'm  a  father  —  for- 
give me. 

Clara.  Imbitter  their  union  !  O,  never !  What 
would  you  have  me  do,  sir  ? 

Sir  John.  Why,  you  're  now  independent.  Lady 
Franldin  seems  resolved  to  stay  in  town.  Surely 
she  can't  mean  to  take  her  money  out  of  the  ftimiiy 
by  some  foolish  inclination  for  Mr.  Graves  V  He  is 
always  purring  and  whining  about  the  house,  like 
a  black  cat  in  the  megrims.     What  think  you,  ehV 

Clara.  Sir,  it  was  of  myself,  —  my  unhappy  .self, 
you  were  speaking. 

Sir  John.     Sly  !  —  True ;   true  !     What  I  meant 
25 


386  MONEY.  [act  in. 

to  say  was  this :  —  Lady  Franklin  persists  in  staying 
here :  you  are  your  own  mistress.  Mrs.  Carlton, 
aunt  to  my  late  wife,  is  going  abroad  for  a  short 
time,  and  would  be  delighted  if  you  would  accom- 
pany her. 

Clara.  It  is  the  very  favor  I  would  have  asked 
of  you.  (Aside.)  I  shall  escape  at  least  the  strug- 
gle and  the  shame.     When  does  she  go  ? 

Sir  John.  In  five  days,  —  next  Monday.  — You 
forgive  me  ? 

Clara.     Sir,  I  thank  j'ou. 

Sir  John  {drawing  the  table).  Suppose,  then,  you 
write  a  line  to  her  yourself,  and  settle  it  at  once  ? 

Enter  Servant. 

Sei'vant.     The  carriage,  Sir  John ;  Miss  Vesey  is  ' 
quite  ready. 

Sir  John.  Wait  a  moment.  Shall  I  tell  Evelyn 
you  wrote  the  letter  ? 

Clara.     No,  sir,  I  implore  you. 

Sir  John.  But  it  would  be  awkward  for  Georgy, 
if  discovered. 

Clara.     It  never  shall  be. 

Sir  John.  Well,  well,  as  you  please.  I  know 
nothing  could  be  so  painful  to  a  young  lady  of  pride 
and  delicacy.  —  James,  if  Mr.  Serious,  the  clergy- 
man, calls,  say  I  'm  gone  to  the  great  meeting  at 
Exeter  Hall :  if  Lord  Spruce  calls,  say  you  believe 
I  'm  gone  to  the  rehearsal  of  Cinderella.  Oh  !  and 
if  MacFinch  should  come  —  (MacFinch,  who  duns 
me  three  times  a-week)  —  say  I  've  hurried  off  to 


SCENE  11.]  MONEY.  ,  387 

Garraway's  to  bid  for  the  great  Bulstrode  estate. 
Just  put  the  Duke  of  Lofly's  card  carelessly  on  the 
hall  table.  And  I  say,  James,  I  expect  two  gentle- 
men a  little  before  dinner,  —  Mr.  Squab  the  Radi- 
cal, and  Mr.  Qualm  of  the  great  Marylebone  Con- 
servative Association.  Show  Squab  into  the  study, 
and  be  sm-e  to  give  him  the  "  Weekly  True  Sun," 

—  Qualm  into  the  back  parlor,  with  the  "  Times  ' 
and  the  "  Morning  Post."  One  must  have  a  little 
management  in  this  world.  All  humbug!  —  all 
humbug,  upon  my  soul !  [Exit. 

Clara  {folding  the  letter).  There,  —  it  is  decided  ! 
A  few  days,  and  we  are  parted  forever !  —  a  few 
weeks,  and  another  will  bear  his  name  —  his  wife ! 
Oh,  happy  fate  !  She  will  have  the  right  to  say 
to  him  —  though  the  whole  world  should  hear 
her  —  "I  am  thine  !  "  And  I  imbitter  their  lot  — 
I  am  the  cloud  upon  their  joyous  sunshine  !  And 
yet,  O  Alfred  !  if  she  loves  thee  —  if  she  knows  thee 

—  if  she  values  thee  —  and,  when  thou  wrong'st 
her,  if  she  can  forgive,  as  I  do  —  I  can  bless  her 
when  far  away,  and  join  her  name  in  my  prayer  for 
thee! 

Evelyn  (tvitJiout).  Miss  Vesey  just  gone  ?  Well, 
I  will  write  a  line. 


388  MONEY.  [act  uL 

SCENE  III. 
Evelyn  and  Clara. 

Evelyn  (aside).  So  —  Clara  !  Do  not  let  me 
disturb  you,  Miss  Douglas. 

Clara  {going).     Nay,  I  have  done. 

Evelyn.  I  see  that  my  presence  is  always  odious 
to  you.  It  is  a  reason  why  I  come  so  seldom.  But 
be  cheered,  madam  :  I  am  here  but  to  fix  the  day 
of  my  marriage,  and  I  shall  then  go  into  the  country 
—  till  —  till  —  In  short,  this  is  the  last  time  my 
visit  will  banish  you  from  the  room  I  enter. 

Clara  (aside).  The  last  time! — and  we  shall 
then  meet  no  more  !  —  And  to  part  thus  forever  — 
in  scorn  —  in  anger  —  I  cannot  bear  it !  (Approach- 
ing him  )  Alfred,  my  cousin,  it  is  true  this  may  be 
the  last  time  Ave  shall  meet  —  I  have  made  my  ar- 
rangements to  quit  England. 

Evebjn.     To  quit  England  '? 

Clara.  But  before  I  go,  let  me  thank  you  for 
many  a  past  kindness,  which  it  is  not  for  an  orphan 
easily  to  forget. 

Evelyn  (mechanically).     To  quit  Ent  land  ! 

Clara.  I  have  long  wished  it :  but  enough  of  me 
Evelyn,  now  that  you  are  betrothed  to  another  — 
now,  without  recurring  to  the  past  —  now,  without 
the  fear  of  mutual  error  and  mistake  —  something 
of  our  old  friendship  may  at  least  return  to  us.  — 
And  if,  too,  I  dared,  I  have  that  on  my  mind  which 
only  a  friend  —  a  sister  —  might  presume  to  say  to 
you. 


SCENE  hi.]  money;  ■  389 

Evelyn  (rnoved).  Miss  Douglas  —  Clara  —  if  there 
is  aught  that  I  could  do  —  if,  while  hundreds  — 
strangers  —  beggars  —  tell  me  that  I  have  the 
power,  by  opening  or  shutting  this  worthless  hand, 
to  bid  sorrow  rejoice,  or  poverty  despair  —  if — if 
my  life  —  my  heart's  blood  —  could  render  to  you 
one  such  service  as  my  gold  can  give  to  others  — 
why,  speak!  —  and  the  past  you  allude  to,  —  yes, 
even  that  bitter  past,  —  I  will  cancel  and  forget ! 

Clara  (Jiolding  out.  her  hand).  We  are  friends, 
then  !  you  are  again  my  cousin  !  my  brother. 

Evelyn  {dropping  her  hand).  Brother  !  Ah  ! 
say  on ! 

Clara.  I  speak,  then,  as  a  sister  —  herself  weak, 
inexperienced,  ignorant,  nothing  —  might  speak  to  a 
brother,  in  whose  career  she  felt  the  ambition  of  a 
man.  Oh,  Evelyn,  when  you  inherited  this  vast 
wealth  I  pleased  myself  with  imagining  how  you 
would  wield  the  power  delegated  to  your  hands.  I 
knew  your  benevolence  —  your  intellect  —  your 
genius !  —  the  ardent  mind  couched  beneatii  the 
cold  sarcasm  of  a  long-baffled  spirit !  I  saw  before 
me  the  noble  and  bright  career  open  to  you  at  last 
—  and  I  often  thought  that,  in  after  years,  when  far 
away  —  as  I  soon  shall  be  —  I  should  hear  your 
name  identified,  not  with  what  fortune  can  give  the 
base,  but  with  deeds  and  ends  to  which,  for  the 
great,  fortune  is  but  the  instrument  \  —  I  often 
thought  that  I  should  say  to  my  own  heart  — 
weeping  proud  and  delicious  tears,  —  "  And  once 
this  man  loved  me  !  " 


390  MOXET.  Iact  m. 

Er^t/n.  Xo  more,  Clara  !  —  ob,  heAvens  1  —  no 
more ! 

Oara.  But  has  it  been  so?  —  have  you  boon 
true  to  >-our  own  self?     Pomp  —  j>aracle  —  luxuries 

—  pleasui\»s  —  follies;!  —  all  the^^  might  distinguish 
others  — they  do  but  belie  the  ambition  and  the  s^iul 
af  Alfred  Evelyn  !  —  Oh  I  parxion  me  —  I  am  ttxt 
bold  —  I  pain  —  I  offend  you.  —  Ah.  I  sliould  not 
have  dared  thus  much  had  I  not  thought  at  times, 
that— tliat  — 

Epelifii,  That  these  follies  —  these  vanities  — 
Uiis  dalliance  with  a  loftier  fiite  were  j^oiu"  own 
work  I  You  thought  that,  and  you  were  right ! 
Perhaps,  indeed,  after  a  youdi  steepetl  to  the  lij^s  in 
the.  h\-ssop  and  gall  of  penury  —  j>erhaps  I  might 
have  wished  royallj-  to  know  the  full  value  of  that 
dazzling  and  slarry  life  which,  from  the  last  step  in 
the  ladder,  I  had  seen  indignantly  and  from  a&r. 
But  a  month  —  a  week  would  have  sufficed  for  that 
exj>erience.  Experience  I  —  Oh.  how  soon  we  learn 
that  hearts  are  as  cold  and  souls  as  vile  —  no  matter 
whether  the  sun  shine  on  the  noble  in  his  palace,  or 
the  rain  drench  the  rags  of  the  beggar  cowering  at 
the  porch.     The  extremes  of  life  differ  but  in  tliis : 

—  Above,  Vice  smiles  and  revels  —  below,  Crbne 
frowns  and  starves.  But  you  —  did  not  you  reject 
me  because  I  was  |>oor  ?     Despise  me  if  you  please ! 

—  my  revenge  might  be  unworthy  —  I  wished  to 
show  you  the  luxuries,  the  gaud,  the  splendour  I 
thought  you  prized,  —  to  surround  with  the  attri- 
bates  TOUT  sex  seems  most  to  value  the  station  tiiat. 


BCESB  13.1  MONEY.  351 

had  you  loved  mc,  it  would  have  been  yours  to 
command.  But  vain  —  vain  alike  my  poverty  and 
my  wealth  !  You  loved  me  not  in  either,  and  my 
fate  is  sealed  '/ 

Clara.     A  happy  fate  Evelyn  !  —  you  love  ! 

Evelyn.  And  at  last  I  am  beloved.  {^Afler  a 
paufe.,  and  turning  to  her  abruptly.)  Do  you  doubt 
it? 

Clara.  !No,  I  believe  it  firmly  I  —  {Aside.)  Were 
it  possible  for  her  not  to  love  him  V 

Evelyn.     GJeorgina,  perhaps,  is  vain  —  and  light 

—  and  — 

Clara.  Xo  —  think  it  not !  Once  removed  from 
the  worllly  atmosphere  of  her  father's  counsels,  and 
you  will  form  and  raise  her  to  your  own  level.  She 
is  so  young  yet —  she  has  beauty,  cheerfulness,  anril 
temper;  —  the  rest  you  will  give,  if  you  will  but  yet 
do  justice  to  your  own  nature.  And,  now  that 
there  is  nothing  unkind  between  us  —  not  even 
regret  —  and  surely  {icith  a  ismile)  not  revenge,  my 
cousin,  you  will  rise  to  your  nobler  self —  and  so, 
farewell ! 

Evelyn.  No ;  stay,  one  moment ;  you  still  feel 
interest  in  my  fate !  Have  I  been  deceived  V  Oh, 
why  —  why  did  you  spurn  the  heart  whose  offerings 
were  lavished  at  your  feet  ?  Could  you  still  — 
still  —  V      Distraction  —  I  know   not  what  I  say : 

—  my  honor   pledged   to   another  —  my  vows   ac- 
epted   and   returned !     Go,    Clara,   it  is  best  so ! 

Yet  you  will  miss  some  one,  perhaps,  more  than  me 

—  some  one  to  whose  follies  you  have  been  more 


392  MONEY.  [act  in 

hidulgent  —  some  one  to  whom  you  would  permit  a 
yet  tenderer  name  than  that  of  brother ! 

Clara  (aside).  It  will  make  him,  perhaps,  hap- 
pier to  think  It !  Think  so,  if  you  will !  —  but  part 
friends. 

Ecelyn.  Friends  —  and  that  is  all!  Look  you, 
this  is  life  !  The  eyes  that  charmed  away  every 
sorrow — the  hand  whose  lightest  touch  thrilled  to 
the  very  core  —  the  presence  that,  like  moonlight, 
shed  its  own  hallowing  beauty  over  the  meanest 
things ;  a  little  while  —  a  year  —  a  month  —  a  day, 
and  we  smile  that  we  could  dream  so  idly.  All  — 
all  —  the  sweet  enchantment,  known  but  once, 
never  to  return  again,  vanished  from  the  world  ! 
And  the  one  who  forgets  the  soonest  —  the  one  who 
robs  your  earth  forever  of  its  summer  —  comes  to 
you  with  a  careless  lip,  and  says  —  "  Let  us  part 

friends  !  " Go,  Clara,  —  go,  —  and   be   happy 

if  you  can ! 

Clara  (loeeping).  Cruel  —  cruel  —  to  the  last! 
—  Heaven  forgive  you,  Alfred  !  [Exit. 

Evelyn.  Soft !  let  me  recall  her  words,  her  tones, 
her  looks.  —  Does  she  love  vie?  She  defends  her 
rival  —  she  did  not  deny  it  Avhen  I  charged  her 
with  attachment  to  another  ;  and  yet  —  and  yet  — 
there  is  a  voice  at  my  heart  which  tells  me  I  have 
been  the  rash  slave  of  a  jealous  anger.  —  But  I 
have  made  my  choice  —  I  must  abide  the  issue  1 

Enter  Graves,  preceded  by  Servant. 
Servant.     Lady  Franklin  is  dressing,  sir- 


OCISK  tv.]  MONEY.  393 

SCENE  IV. 
Graves  and  Evelyn. 

Graves.  Well,  I  'II  wait.  {Exit  Se  ■/■•mt.)  She 
was  worthy  to  have  known  the  lost  //larla !  So 
considerate  to  ask  me  hither  —  not  t»./ console  me, 
that  is  impossible  — but  to  indulge  the  luxury  of 
woe.  It  will  be  a  mournful  scece.  —  (^Seeing 
EvKLYN.)  Is  that  you,  Evelyn?  —  1  nave  just 
heard  that  the  borough  of  Groginhole  is  vacant  at 
last.  Why  not  stand  yourself?  —  with  your  prop- 
erty you  might  come  in  without  even  a  personal 
canvass. 

Evelyn.  I,  who  despise  these  conftRsts  for  the 
color  of  a  straw  —  this  everlasting  litijraticm  of  Au- 
thority versus  Man  —  I  to  be  one  of  the  "vn anglers  ? 
—  never ! 

Graves.  You  are  quite  right,  and  1  oeg  your 
pardon. 

Evelyn  (aside).  And  yet  Clara  spojce  of  ambi- 
tion. She  would  regret  me  if  I  couid  be  distin- 
guished. —  (Aloud.)  To  be  sure,  alter  all,  Graves, 
corrupt  as  mankind  are,  it  is  our  auty  to  try  at 
least  to  make  them  a  little  better.  An  Englishman 
owes  something  to  his  country. 

Graces.  He  does  indeed  !  (counting  on  Jus  fin- 
gers.) East  winds,  Fogs,  Rheumatism,  Pulmonary 
Complaints,  and  Taxes  —  (Evelv^t  loalks  about  in 
disorder.)  You  seem  agitated  —  a  quarrel  Avith 
your  intended  ?     Oh  I  when  you  've  been  married 


394  MONEY.  [ACT  m. 

a  month,  you  '11  not  know  what  to  do  without 
one ! 

Evelyn.     You  are  a  pleasant  comforter. 

Graves.  Do  }ou  deserve  a  comforter  ?  One 
morning  you  tell  me  you  love  Clara,  or  at  least 
detest  her,  which  is  the  same  thing  (poor  Maria 
often  said  she  detested  me)  —  and  that  very  after- 
noon you  propose  to  Georgina ! 

Evehjn.  Clara  will  easily  console  herself —  thanks 
to  Sir  Frederick  ! 

Graves.     He  is  young ! 

Evelyn.     Good-looking ! 

Graves.     A  coxcomb  ! 

Evelyn.     And  therefore  irresistible ! 

Graves.  Nevertheless,  Clara  has  had  the  bad 
taste  to  refuse  him.  I  have  it  from  Lady  Franklin, 
to  whom  he  confided  his  despair  in  rearranging  his 
neckcloth ! 

Evelyn.     My  dear  friend  —  is  it  possible  ? 

Graves.  But  what  then  ?  You  inust  marry  Geor- 
gina, who,  to  believe  Lady  Franklin,  is  sincerely 
attached  to  —  your  fortune.  Go  and  hang  yourself, 
Evelyn  ;  you  have  been  duped  by  them. 

Evelyn.  By  them  —  bah  !  If  deceived,  I  have 
been  my  own  dupe.  Is  it  not  a  strange  thing  that 
in  matters  of  reason  —  of  the  arithmetic  and  logic 
of  life  —  we  are  sensible,  shrewd,  prudent  men  ;  but 
touch  our  hearts  —  move  our  passions  —  take  us  for 
an  instant  from  the  hard  safety  of  worldly  calcula- 
tion —  and  the  philosopher  is  duller  than  the  fool  ? 
Duped  —  if  I  thought  it !  — 


BCENB  IV.]  MONEY.  395 

Gj-aves.  To  be  sure  !  —  you  tried  Clara  in  j'our 
poverty ;  it  was  a  safe  experiment  to  try  Georgina 
in  your  weallh. 

Ei-eli/n.     Ha  !  that  is  true  —  very  true.     Go  on. 

Graves.  You  'II  have  an  excellent  father-in-law 
Sir  John  positively  weeps  when  he  talks  of  your 
income  ! 

Evelyn.     Sir  John,  possibly  —  but  Georgina  ? 

Graves.  Plays  affection  to  you  in  the  afternoon, 
after  practising  first  with  Sir  Frederick  in  the 
morning. 

Evelyn.  On  your  life,  sir,  be  serious :  what  do 
you  mean  ? 

Graves.  That  in  passing  this  way  I  see  her  very 
often  walking  in  the  square  with  Su-  Frederick. 

Evelyn.     Ha  !  say  you  so  ? 

Graves.  A^'^hat  then  ?  Man  is  born  to  be  de- 
ceived. You  look  nervous  —  your  hand  trembles ; 
that  comes  of  gaming.  They  say  at  the  clubs  that 
you  play  deeply. 

Evelyn.  Ha !  ha  !  Do  they  say  that  ?  —  a  kvf 
hundreds  lost  or  won  —  a  cheap  opiate  —  anything 
that  can  lay  the  memory  to  sleep.  The  poor  man 
drinks,  and  the  rich  man  gambles  —  the  same  mo- 
tive to  both !  But  you  are  right  —  it  is  a  base 
resource  —  I  will  play  no  more. 

Graves.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,  for  your 
friend  Captain  Smooth  has  ruined  half  the  young 
heirs  in  London.  To  play  with  him  is  to  advertise 
yourself  a  bankrupt.  Even  Sir  John  is  alarmed. 
I  met  him  just  now  in  Pall  Mall ;  he  made  mc  stop, 


396  MONEY.  [act  in. 

and  implored  me  to  speak  to  you.  By  the  by,  I 
forgot  —  do  you  bank  with  Flash,  Brisk,  Credit, 
and  Co.? 

Evelyn.  So,  Sir  John  is  alarmed  ?  —  {Aaide.') 
Gulled  by  this  cogging  charlatan  ?  —  Aha  !  I  may 
beat  him  yet  at  his  own  weapons  !  —  Humph  ! 
Bank  with  Flash !     Why  do  you  ask  me  ? 

Graves.  Because  Sir  John  has  just  heard  that 
they  are  in  a  very  bad  way,  and  begs  you  to  with- 
draw anything  you  have  in  their  hands. 

Evelyn.  I  '11  see  to  it.  So  Sir  John  is  alarmed  at 
my  gambling  ? 

Graves.  Terribly !  He  even  told  me  he  should 
go  himself  to  the  club  this  evening,  to  watch  you. 

Evelyn.     To  watch  me  !  —  good  —  I  will  be  there. 

Graves.     But  you  will  promise  not  to  play  ? 

Evelyn.  Yes  —  to  play.  I  feel  it  is  impossible  to 
give  it  up  ! 

Graves.  No  —  no  !  'Sdeath,  man  !  be  as  wretch- 
ed as  you  please  ;  break  your  heart,  that 's  nothing ! 
but  damme,  take  care  of  your  pockets. 

Evelyn.  I  will  be  there  —  I  will  play  with  Cap- 
tain Smooth  —  I  will  lose  as  much  as  I  please  — 
thousands  —  millions — billions;  and  if  he  presume 
to  spy  on  my  losses,  hang  me  if  I  don't  lose  Sir  John 
himself  into  the  bargain  !  (^Going  out  and  return- 
ing.) I  am  so  absent!  What  was  the  bank  you 
mentioned  ?  Flash,  Brisk,  and  Credit  ?  Bless  me, 
how  unlucky !  and  it 's  too  late  to  draw  out  to-day. 
Tell  Sir  John  I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  him,  and 
he  '11  find  me  at  the  club  any  time  before  daybreak 
hai'd  at  work  with  my  friend  Smooth  !  [Exit. 


BOBNB  v.]  MONEY.  397 

Graves.  He's  certainly  crazy  !  but  I  don't  Avon - 
der  at  it.  What  the  approach  of  the  dog-days  is  to 
the  canine  species,  the  approach  of  the  honeymoon 
is  to  the  human  race. 

Enter  Servant. 

Servant.  Lady  Franklin's  compliments  —  she 
will  see  you  in  the  boudoir,  sir. 

Graves.  In  the  boudoir  !  —  go,  go  —  I  '11  come 
directly.  [^Exit  Servant. 

My  heart  beats  —  it  must  be  for  grief.  Poor 
Maria  !  (^Searching  his  pockets  for  his  handkerchief.) 
Not  a  white  one !  — just  like  my  luck :  I  call  on  a  lady 
to  talk  of  the  dear  departed,  and  I've  nothing  about 
me  but  a  cursed  gaudy,  flaunting,  red,  yellow,  and 
blue  abomination  from  India,  which  it 's  even  inde- 
cent for  a  disconsolate  widower  to  exhibit.  Ah ! 
Fortune  never  ceases  to  torment  the  susceptible. 
The  boudoir!  —  ha!  ha!  the  boudoir !  l_Exit. 


SCENE   V. 

A  Boudoir  in  the  same  home. 

Lady  F.  I  take  so  much  compassion  on  this  poor 
man,  who  is  determined  to  make  himself  wretched, 
that  I  am  equally  deterniiiied  to  make  him  happy  ! 
Well,  if  my  scheme  does  but  succeed,  he  shall 
laugh,  he  shall  sing,  he  shall  —  Mum !  —  here  he 
comes  1 


398  MONEY.  [act  m. 

Enter  Graves. 

Graves  (sighinf/).     Ah,  Lady  Franklin  ! 

Ladi/  F.  (sighing).  Ah,  Mr.  Graves  !  (They 
seat  themselves.)  Pray  excuse  me  for  having  kept 
you  so  long.     Is  it  not  a  charming  day  ? 

Graves.  An  east  wind,  ma'am !  but  nothing 
comes  amiss  to  you  !  —  it 's  a  happy  disposition  ! 
Poor  Maria  !  — she,  too,  was  naturally  gay. 

Lady  F.  Yes,  she  was  gay.  So  much  life,  and  a 
great  deal  of  spirit. 

Graves.  Spirit  ?  Yes !  —  nothing  could  master 
it.  She  would  have  her  own  way  !  Ah  !  there  was 
nobody  like  her ! 

Lady  F.  And  then,  when  her  spirit  was  up, 
she  looked  so  handsome  !  Her  eyes  grew  so  bril- 
liant ! 

Graves.  Did  not  they  ?  —  Ah !  ah  !  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
And  do  you  remember  her  pretty  trick  of  stamp- 
ing her  foot  ?  —  the  tiniest  little  foot  —  I  think  I 
see  her  now.  Ah !  this  conversation  is  very  sooth- 
ing! 

Lady  F.  How  well  she  acted  in  your  private 
theatricals ! 

Graves.  You  remember  her  Mrs.  Oakley,  in 
"  The  Jealous  Wife  "  ?  Ha  !  ha!  how  good  it  was ! 
—  ha!  ha! 

Lady  F.  Ha  !  ha  !  Yes,  in  the  very  first  scene, 
when  she  came  out  with  (mimicking)  "  Your  uiikind- 
ness  and  barbarity  will  be  the  death  of  me  !  " 

Graves.    No  —  no  1  that 's  not  it !  more  energy. 


iCEXE  v.]  MONEY.  399 

(Mimickinfj.)  "  Your  unkindiiess  and  barbarity  wiU 
be  the  death  of  me."  Ha  !  ha  !  I  ought  to  know- 
how  she  said  it,  for  she  used  to  practise  it  oa  me 
twice  a-day.  Ah  !  poor  dear  lamb !  (  Wqjes  his 
eyes.) 

Lady  F.  And  then  she  sang  so  well !  was  such  a 
composer !  What  was  that  little  French  air  she  was 
so  fond  of  ? 

Graves.  Ha  !  ha !  sprightly  ?  was  it  not  ?  Let 
me  see  —  let  me  see. 

Lady  F.  (Iiumming).  Tum  ti  —  ti  turn  —  ti  —  ti 
—  ti.     No,  that 's  not  it. 

Graves  (Jaimming').  Tum  ti  —  ti  —  tum  ti  —  ti  — 
tam  —  tum  —  tum. 

Both.  Tum  ti  —  ti  —  tum  ti  —  ti  —  tum  —  tum — 
tum.     Ha  !  ha ! 

Graves  (throwing  himself  JkicIl).  Ah!  what  recol- 
lections it  revives  !     It  is  too  affecting. 

Lady  F.  It  is  affecting ;  but  we  are  all  mortal. 
{Sighs.)  And  at  your  Christmas  party  at  Cyprus 
Lodge,  do  you  remember  her  dancing  the  Scotch 
reel  with  Captain  Macnaughten  ? 

Graves.  Ha  !  ha  1  ha  !  To  be  sure  —  to  be 
sure. 

Lady  F.  Can  you  think  of  the  step  ?  —  somehow 
thus,  was  it  not  ?     (Dancing.) 

Graves.  No  —  no  —  quite  wrong!  —  just  stand 
there.  Now  then  (Jiwnming  the  tune.)  —  La  — 
la-la-la.  —  La  la,  &c.  [  They  dance. 

That 's  it  —  excellent  —  admirable  1 

Lady  F.  (aside).     Now  it's  coming. 


400  MONEY.  [act  n- 

Enter    Sir    John,.   Blount,    Georgina,  —  iJiey 
stand  amazed. 

[Lady  Franklln  continues  to  dance. 

Graves.  Bewitching  —  irresistible  !  It 's  Maria 
herself  that  I  see  before  me  !  Thus  —  thus  —  let 
me  clasp  —  Oh,  the  Devil !  Just  like  my  luck ! 
—  (^Stopping  opposite  Sir  John.) 

[Lady  Franklin  runs  off. 

Sir  John.     Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Graves  ! 

Georg.,  Blount.  Encore  —  encore  !  Bravo  — 
bravo  ! 

Graves.  It 's  all  a  mistake  !  I  —  I  —  Sir  John, 
Lady  Franklin,  you  see  —  that  is  to  say  —  I  — 
Sainted  Maria  !  you  are  spared,  at  least,  this  afflic- 
tion ! 

Georg.     Pray  go  on  ! 

Blount.     Don't  let  us  interwupt  you. 

Graves.  Interrupt  me  !  I  must  say  that  this 
rudeness  —  this  gross  impropriety  —  to  pry  into  the 
sorrows  of  a  poor  bereaved  sufferer,  seeking  comfort 
from  a  sympathizing  friend  —  But  such  is  human 
nature ! 

Georg.     But,  Mr.  Graves !  —  {following  Jiim.) 

Graves.     Heartless ! 

Blount.  My  dear  Mr.  Graves  !  —  (follomng 
hiin.) 

Graves.     Frivolous ! 

Sir  John.     Stay  and  dine  !  —  (folloicing  Mm.) 

Graves.     Unfeeling ! 

Omnes.    Ha !  —  ha  !  —  ha ! 


6CKSB  TI.]  MONEY.  401 

Graves,    Monsters  !     Good  day  to  you.* 

\_Exit,  followed  hy  Sir  Joux,  ijC. 


SCENE   VI. 


The  interior  of  *  *  *  * 's  Club;  night;  lights,  cfc.  Small 
sofa-tables,  with  books,  papers,  tea,  coffte,  ^-c.  Several 
Members  grouped  by  the  f  replace  ;  one  Member  icith  his 
legs  over  the  bach  of  his  chair ;  another  with  his  legs  over 
Ms  table ;  a  third  with  his  legs  on  the  chimney-piece.  To 
the  left,  and  in  front  of  the  Stage,  an  old  Member  reading 
the  newspaper,  seated  by  a  small  round  table ;  to  the  right  a 
card-table,  before  which  Captain  Dudley  Sjiooth  is 
seated,  and  sipping  lemonade  ;  at  the  bottom  of  the  Stage 
another  card-table. 

Glossmore  and  Stout. 

Gloss.     You  don't  come  often  to  the  club,  Stout  ? 

Stout.  No  ;  time  is  money.  An  hour  spent  at  a 
club  is  unproductive  capital. 

Old  Mem.  (^reading  the  newspaper).  Waiter!  — 
the  snuff-box.  [Waiter  brings  it. 

Gloss.  So,  Evelyn  has  taken  to  play  ?  I  see 
Deadly  Smooth,  "  hushed  in  grim  repose,  awaits  his 
evening  prey."  Deep  work  to-night,  I  suspect,  for 
Smooth  is  drinking  lemonade  —  keeps  his  head 
clear  —  monstrous  clever  dog  ! 

*  For  the  original  idea  of  this  scene  the  autlior  is  iodebted  to  a 
little ^rouerie,  never,  he  believes,  acted  in  public. 
26 


4^2  MONEY.  [ACT  m. 

hnter  Evelyx  ;  salutes  and  shakes  havds  with  'dif- 
ferent members  in  2^(issing  up  the  Stage. 

How  d'  ye  do,  Glossmore  ?  How  are  you,  Stout  ? 
you  don't  play,  I  think  ?  Political  Economy  never 
plays  at  cards,  eh  ?  —  never  has  time  for  anything 
more  frivolous  than  Rents  and  Profits,  Wages  and 
Labor,  High  Prices  and  Low  —  Corn-Laws,  Poor- 
Laws,  Tithes,  Currency  —  Dot-and-go-one  —  Kates, 
Puzzles,  Taxes,  Riddles,  and  Botheration !  Smooili 
is  the  man.  Aha !  Smooth.  Piquet,  eh  ?  You 
owe  me  my  revenge  1 

[Members  touch  each  other  signifcanthj  :  Stout 
walks  away  with  the  snuff-box;  Old  Member 
looks  at  him  savagely. 

Smooth.     My  dear  Alfred,  anything  to  oblige. 

[  They  seat  themselves. 
Old  Mem.     Waiter  !  —  the  snuO-box. 
[AVaiter  takes  it  from  Stout  and  brings  it  hack  to 
Old  Member. 

Enter  Blount. 

Blount.  So,  so !  Evelyn  at  it  again,  —  eh,  Gloss- 
more  ? 

Gloss.  Yes,  Smooth  sticks  to  him  like  a  leech. 
Clever  fellow,  that  Smooth  ! 

Blount.     Will  you  make  up  a  wubber  ? 

Gloss.     Have  you  got  two  others  ? 

Blount.     Yes  ;  Flat  and  Green. 

Gloss.     Bad  players. 

Blount.    I  make  it  a  wule  to  play  with  bad  play- 


SCENE  VI.]  MONEY.  403 

ers ;  it  is  five  per  cent  in  one's  favor.  I  hate 
gambling.  But  a  quiet  wubber,  if  one  is  the  best 
player  out  of  four,  can't  do  one  any  harni. 

Gloss.     Clever  fellow,  that  Blount ! 

[Blount  takes  up  the  snuff-hox  and  walks  off  with 
it ;  Old  Member  looks  at  him  savagely. 

[Blount,  Glossmore,  Flat,  and  Green  make 

up  a  table  at  the  bottom  of  the  Stage. 

Smooth.  A  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  Alfred,  — 
ninety  repique  —  ten  cards !  —  game  ! 

Evelyn  (^passing  a  note  to  him).  Game!  Before 
we  go  on,  one  question.  Tliis  is  Thursday  —  how 
much  do  you  calculate  to  win  of  me  before  Tuesday 
next? 

Stnooth.     Ce  cher  A  Ifred  !     He  is  so  droll ! 

Ei'elgn  (^writing  in  hu>  pocket-book') .  Forty  games 
a-night  —  four  nights,  minus  Sunday  —  our  usual 
stakes  —  that  would  be  right,  I  think ! 

Smooth  (glancing  over  the  account).  Quite  —  if 
I  win  all  —  which  is  next  to  impossible. 

Evelyn.  It  shall  be  possible  to  win  twice  as  much, 
on  one  condition. '   Can  you  keep  a  secret  ? 

Smooth.  My  dear  Alfred,  I  have  kept  myself ! 
I  never  inherited  a  farthing  —  I  never  spent  less 
than  4000L  a-year  —  and  I  never  told  a  soul  how  I 
managed  it. 

Evelyn.  Hark  ye,  then  —  a  word  with  you  — • 
{iiiey  whisper). 

Old  Mem.     Waiter !  —  the  snuiF-box  ! 

[Waiter  takes  it  from  Blount,  Sfc. 


404  MONEY.  [act  in. 

Enter  Sir  John. 
Evelyn.     You  understand  ? 
Smooth.     Perfectl}' ;  anything  to  oblige. 
Ecehjn  (cutting^     It  is  for  you  to  deal. 

[  They  go  on  playing. 
Sir  John  (groaning).    There  's  my  precious  son-in- 
law,  that  is  to  be,  spending  my  consequence,  and 
making  a  fool  of  himself. 

[_Takes  up  the  snuff-box;   Old  Member  looks  at 
him  savagely. 

Blount.  I  'm  out.  Flat,  a  poney  on  the  odd 
twick.  That's  wight.  —  (Comii^g  up  counting  his 
money.)     AVell,  Sir  John,  you  don't  play  ? 

Sir  John.  Play  ?  no  !  Confound  him  —  lost 
again  ! 

Evelyn.     Hang  the  cards  !  —  double  the  stakes  ! 

Smooth.     Just  as  you  please  —  done ! 

Sir  John     Done,  indeed  ! 

Old  Mem.     Waiter !  —  the  snuff-box. 

[Waiter  takes  it  from  Sir  John. 

Blount.  I  've  won  eight  points  and  the  bets  —  I 
never  lose  —  I  never  play  in  the  Deadly  Smooth 
set! 

\^Takes  up  the  snuff-box;  Old  Member  as  before. 

Sir  John  (looking  over  Smooth's  hand,  and  fidget- 
ing backwards  and  forwards) .  Lord,  have  mercy  on 
us  !  Smooth  has  seven  for  his  point !  What 's  the 
stakes  ? 

Evelyn.  Don't  disturb  us  —  I  only  throw  out 
four.     Stakes,  Sir  John  ?  —  immense  !     Was   ever 


BOENE    PI.]  MONEY.  405 

such  luck  ?  —  not  a  card  for  my  point.     Do  stand 
back,  Sir  John  — I  'm  getting  irritable. 

Old  Mem.     Waiter  !  —  the  snuff-box. 

[Waiter  brings  it  hacTc. 

Blount.  One  hundred  pounds  on  the  next  game, 
Evelyn  ? 

Sir  John.  Nonsense  —  nonsense  —  don't  disturb 
him  !  All  the  fishes  come  to  the  bait !  Sharks  and 
minnows  all  nibbling  away  at  my  son-in-law  ! 

Erelyn.  One  hundred  pounds,  Blount  ?  Ah  ! 
the  finest  gentleman  is  never  too  fine  a  gentleman 
to  pick  up  a  guinea.  Done  !  Treble  the  stakes, 
Smooth ! 

Sir  John.  I  'm  on  the  rack  !  (seizing  the  .^^niiff- 
box.)  Be  cool,  Evelyn  !  take  care,  my  dear  boy  ! 
Be  cool  —  be  cool. 

Evelyn.  What  —  what  ?  You  have  four  queens ! 
—  five  to  the  king.  Confijund  the  cards !  a  fresh 
pack.  (Throws  the  cards  behind  him  over  Sir 
John.) 

Old  Mem.     Waiter  !  —  the  snuff-box. 

\_Different  members  gather  round. 

1st  Mem.  I  never  before  saw  Evelyn  out  of  tem- 
per.    He  must  be  losing  immensely  ! 

2d  Mem.     Yes,  this  is  interesting  ! 

Sir  John.    Interesting  !  there  's  a  wretch  ! 

1st  Mem.  Poor  fellow  !  he  '11  be  ruined  in  a 
month ! 

Sir  ,Tohn.     I  'm  in  a  cold  sweat. 

2d  Mem.     Smooth  is  the  very  Devil, 

Sir  John.     The  Devil's  a  joke  to  himl 


406  MONEY.  [ACT  m. 

Glos!^.  (^dapping  Sir  John  on  the  hack).  A  clever 
fellow  that  Smooth,  Sir  John,  eh  ?  (Takes  up  the 
snuff-box.  Old  Member  as  before.')  100/.  on  this 
game,  Evelyn  ? 

Eveh/n  {half  turning  round).  Yon !  well  done 
the  Constitntlon  !  yes,  100/.! 

Old  Mem.     Waiter !  —  the  snuff-box. 

Stout.  I  think  I  'll  venture  200/.,  on  this  game, 
Evelyn  ? 

Evelyn  {quite  turning  round).  Ha!  ha!  ha!  — 
Enlightenment  and  the  Constitution  on  the  same 
side  of  the  question  at  last !  O,  Stout,  Stout  I  — 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number — greatest 
number,  number  one  !  Done,  Stout  !  —  200/. !  — 
ha !  ha  !  ha !  —  deal,  Smooth.  Well  done,  PoUticed 
Economy  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

Sir  John.  Quite  hysterical  —  drivelling  !  Ar'n't 
you  ashamed  of  yourselves  ?  His  own  cousins  —  all 
in  a  conspiracy  —  a  perfect  gang  of  them. 

\_Members  indignant. 

Stout  (to  Members) .  Hush !  he  's  to  marry  Sir 
John's  daughter. 

\st  Mem.     AVhat,  Stingy  Jack's  ?  oh  ! 

Chorus  of  Members.     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Old  Mem.     Waiter !  the  snuff-box. 

Evelyn  (rising  in  great  agitation).  No  more,  no 
more  —  I  've  done  !  —  quite  enough.  Glossmore, 
Stout,  Blount  —  I  '11  pay  you  to-morrow.  I  —  I  — 
Death  !  —  this  is  ruinous  ! 

^Seizes  the  snuff-box ;  Old  Member  as  before. 

Sir  John.     Ruinous  ?    I  dare   say  it  is.     What 


SCENE  VI.]  MONEY.  407 

has   he   lost  ?    what   has  he   lost,    Smooth  ?      Not 
much  ?  eh  ?  eli  ? 

\_Omnes  gather  round  Simooth. 

Smooth.  Oh,  a  trille,  dear  John  !  —  excuse  me  ! 
We  never  tell  our  winnings.  —  (7^o  Blount.)  How 
d'ye  do,  Fred? — (7o  Glossmore.)  By  the  by, 
Charles,  don't  you  want  to  sell  your  house  in  Gros- 
venor-square  ?  —  12,000/.,  eh  ? 

Gloss.  Yes,  and  the  furniture  at  a  valuation. 
About  3,000/.  more. 

Smooth  (looking  over  his  pocket-hook^.  Um  !  — 
Well,  we '11  talk  of  it. 

Sir  John.  12  and  3  —  15,000/.  What  a  cold- 
blooded rascal  it  is  !  —  15,000/.,  Smooth  ? 

Smooth.  Oh,  the  house  itself  is  a  trifle ;  but  the 
establishment  —  I  'm  considering  whether  I  have 
enough  to  keep  it  up,  my  dear  John. 

Old  Mem.     Waiter,  the  snuff-box !    (Scraping  it 
round,  and  with  a  wry  face. ^  —  And  it 's  all  gone  I 
\_Gives  it  to  the  Waiter  to  Jill. 

Sir  John  (turning  round).     And  it 's  all  gone  I 

Evelyn  (starling  up  and  laughing  hysterically'). 
Ha  !  ha !  all  gone  ?  not  a  bit  of  it.  Smooth,  this 
club  Is  so  noisy.  Sir  John,  you  are  always  in  the 
way.  Come  to  my  house  !  come  !  Champagne  and 
a  broiled  bone.  Nothing  venture,  nothing  have  ! 
The  luck  must  turn,  and  by  Jupiter  we  '11  make  a 
night  of  it ! 

Sir  John.  A  night  of  it ! ! !  For  Heaven's  sake, 
Evelyn  !  Evelyn  I !  —  think  what  you  are  about  J 
—  think  of  Georgina's  feelings  !  think  of  your  poor 


408  MONEY.  UcT  in. 

lost  inotlier  !  —  think  of  the  babes  unborn  !   think 
of— 

Evelyn.  I  '11  think  of  nothing  !  Zounds  1  —  you 
don't  know  what  I  have  lost,  man  ;  it 's  all  your 
fault,  distracting  my  attention.  Pshaw  —  pshaw  '. 
Out  of  the  way,  do  !  Come,  Smooth.  Ha  !  ha !  a 
night  of  it,  my  boy  —  a  night  of  it ! 

[Exeunt  Smooth  and  Evelyn. 

Sir  John  {following).  You  must  not,  you  shall 
not !  Evelyn,  my  dear  Evelyn  !  he  's  drunk  —  he 's 
mad !     Will  no  one  send  for  the  police  '? 

Members.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !     Poor  old  Stingy  Jack ! 

Old  Mem.  (rising  for  the  first  time,  and  in  a  great 
rage).     Waiter !  —  the  snuff-box  ! 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  —  The  Anieroom  in  Evelyn's  hcnise,  as  in  Scene 
A,  Act  II. 

Tabodket,  MacFinch,  Feantz,  and  other  Tradesmen. 

Tab.  (Jialf  wldspers) .  So,  I  hear  that  Mr.  Evelyn 
has  turned  gamester !  There  are  strange  reports 
about  to-day  —  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it ! 
We  must  look  sharp,  Mr.  MacFinch,  we  poor  trades- 
men, and  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines. 

MacFinch.  I  wuish  those  geeming-houses  were 
aw  at  the  Deevil !  —  It 's  a  sheam  and  a  sin  for  gen- 
tlemen to  gang  and  ruin  themselves,  when  we  hon- 
est tradesmen  could  do  it  for  them  with  sae  muckle 
advantage  to  the  arts  and  coummerce  o'  the  country ! 
\^Omnes  shake  their  heads  approvingly. 

Enter  Smooth  from  the  inner  room,  roith  a  pocket- 
hook  and  pencil  m  his  hand. 

Smooth  (looking  round).  Hum!  ha!  Fine  pic- 
tures I  —  (^Feeling  the  curtains.)  The  new-fashioned 
velvet,  hum  !  good  proportioned  rooms  !  Yes,  this 
house  is  better  than  Glossmore's  !  Oh,  Mr.  Tab- 
ouret, the  upholsterer  !  you  furnished  these  rooms  V 
All  of  the  best,  eh  ? 

Tab.  Oh,  the  VERY  best !  Mr.  Evelyn  is  not  a 
man  to  grudge  expense,  sir  ! 


410  MONEY.  [ACT  IV. 

Smooth.  He  is  not,  indeed.  You  Ve  been  paid, 
I  suppose,  Tabouret  ? 

Tab.  No,  Sir,  no  —  I  never  send  in  my  bills 
when  a  customer  is  rich.  {Aside.)  Bills  are  like 
trees,  and  grow  by  standing. 

Smoolli.     Humph  !     Not  paid  ?  humph  ! 

[^Omnes  gather  round. 

MacFinch.  I  dinna  like  that  hoomph,  there  's 
something  vara  suspeecious  abun'  it. 

Tab.  (to  the  tradesmeii).  It 's  the  great  card- 
player.  Captain  Smooth  —  finest  player  in  Europe 

—  cleaned  out  the  Duke  of  Sillyvale.    Uncommonly 
clever  man  ! 

Smooth  {pacing  about  the  rooni).  Thirty-six  feet 
by  twenty-eight  —  Um  !  I  think  a  bow-window 
there  would  be  an  improvemerit :  could  it  be  done 
easily,  Tabouret  ? 

MacFinch.  If  Mr.  Evelyn  wants  to  pool  about 
bis  house,  there  's  no  mon  like  my  friend  Mr.  Mi.G- 
Stucco. 

Smooth.  EveljTi  !  I  was  speaking  of  myself. 
Mr.  Mac  Stucco  ?  —  humph  ! 

Tab.  Yourself?  Have  you  bought  the  house, 
sir  ? 

Smooth.     Bought  it  ?  —  hum  !  —  ha !  —  it  depends 

—  So  you  've  not  been  paid  yet  ?  —  um  !     Nor  you 

—  nor  you  —  nor  you  V     Hum  !  ha  ! 

Tab.  No,  sir!  — what  then?  No  fear  of  Mr. 
Evelyn  !    Ha  !  ha  ! 

Omnes  (anxiously') .     Ha  !  ha  !  —  what  then  ? 
MacFinch.     Ah,  sir,  what  then  ?    I  'm  a  puir  mon 


BCEifE  II J  MONEY.  411 

with  a  femily  ;  this  way,  Captain  !  You  've  a  leetle 
accomit  in  the  builcs ;  an'  we  '11  e'en  Avipe  it  out 
altogether,  gin  you  '11  say  what  you  mean  by  that 
Hoom  ha ! 

Smooth.  MacFinch,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  oblige 
me  to  cane  you ;  I  would  not  have  Mr.  Evelyn  dis- 
tressed for  the  world.  Poor  fellow  !  he  holds  very 
bad  cards.  So  you  've  not  been  paid  yet  ?  Don't 
send  in  your  bills  on  any  account  —  Mind  !  Yes  ;  I 
don't  dislike  the  house  with  some  alteration.  Good 
day  to  you  —  Hum  !  ha ! 

[Exit,  lool'ing  about  Jdm,  examining  the  chairs, 
tablea,  Sj-c. 

Tab.  Plain  as  a  pike-stafl"!  staked  his  very  house 
on  an  odd  trick  ! 


SCENE    II. 


Tlie  foregoing. — Enter  Sharp  y}"o??(  the  inner  room,  agi- 
tated, and  in  a  hurrg. 

Sliarp.  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  —  who  'd  have  thought 
it?  Cards  are  the  Devil's  books!  John  !  —  Thomas ! 
—  Harris  !  —  (^ringing  the  bell.^ 

Enter  Two  Servants. 

Tom,  take  this  letter  to  Sir  John  Vesey's.  If  not  at 
home,  find  him  —  he  will  give  you  a  check.  Go  to 
his  banker's,  and  get  it  cashed  instantlg.  Quick  — 
quick !  off  with  you  ! 


412  MONEY.  [act  IV. 

Tab.  (aeizlng  Servant).  What 's  the  matter  — 
what 's  the  matter  ?     How  's  Mr.  Evelyn  ? 

Servant.  Bad  —  very  bad  !  Sat  up  all  night 
with  Captain  Smooth.  [^Runx  off. 

Sharp  (to  the  other  Servant).  Yes,  Harris,  your 
poor  master  !  O  dear !  O  dear !  You  will  take 
this  note  to  the  Belgian  minister,  Portland-place. 
Passport  for  Ostend  !  Have  the  travelling  carriage 
ready  at  a  moment's  notice  ! 

MacFinch  {stopping  Servant).  Passport !  Hark 
ye,  my  mon  ;  is  he  gaun  to  pit  the  saut  seas  between 
us  and  the  siller  ? 

Servant.  Don't  stop  me  —  something  wrong  in 
the  chest  —  change  of  air  —  late  hours  —  and  Cap 
tain  Smooth  !  \_Exit. 

Sharp  {xoalk'mg  about').  And  if  the  bank  should 
break !  —  if  the  bank  is  broke,  and  he  can't  draw 
out !  — bound  to  Smooth. 

Tab.     Bank  !  —  what  bank  ? 

Sharp.  Flash's  bank  I  Flash,  brother-in-law  to 
Captain  Smooth  !  What  have  you  heard  ?  —  eh  ? 
—  ch  V 

Tab.     That  there  's  an  awful  run  on  it ! 

Sharp.  I  must  be  off.  Go  —  go  —  you  can't  see 
Mr.  Evelyn  to-day  ! 

Tab.     My  account,  sir  ! 

MacFinch.  I  've  a  niuckle  bairns  and  a  sma' 
bill! 

Frantz.  O  sare,  de  great  gentlemen  always  tink 
first  of  de  tailor  ! 

Sharp.     Call   again  —  call   again   at   Christmas. 


8CEHE  in.]  MONEY.  413 

The  bank,  —  the  cards,  —  the  bank  !  O  dear  !  O 
dear !  [Exit. 

Tab.     The  bank! 

MacFinch.     The  passport ! 

Frantz.  And  all  dat  vil  be  seen  of  de  great 
Evelyn  coat  is  de  back  of  it !  Donner  und  Harjel  ! 
—  I  vil  arrest  him  —  I  vil  put  de  salt  on  de  tail 
of  it! 

Tah.  (aside).  I'll  slip  down  to  the  city  and  see 
how  the  bank  goes ! 

MacFinch  (aside).  I  '11  e'en  gang  to  my  coosin 
the  la'yer.  Nothing  but  peetience  for  us,  Mr. 
Tabouret. 

Tab.  Ay,  ay,  —  stick  by  each  other  —  share  and 
share  alike  —  that 's  my  way,  sir. 

Omnes.     Share  and  share  alike.  \_Exeunl. 


SCENE  III. 
Enter  Servant,  Glossmore,  and  Blount. 

Servant.  My  master  is  not  very  well,  my  lord  ! 
but  I'll  let  him  know.  [Exit. 

Gloss.  I  'm  very  curious  to  learn  the  result  of 
his  gambling  tete-a-tete. 

Blount.  Oh,  he  's  so  howwidly  wich,  he  can 
afford  even  a  tete-iVtete  with  Deadly  Smooth  ! 

Gloss.  Poor  old  Stingy  Jack  !  why  Georgina  was 
your  intended. 

Blount.     Yes  ;  and  I  really  liked  the  girl,  though 


414  MONEY.  [ACT  IV. 

out  of  pique  T  pwoposed  to  her  cousin.     But  what 
can  a  man  do  against  money  ? 

Enter  Evelyn. 

If  we  could  start  fiiir,  you  'd  see  whom  Georgina 
would  jtwefer :  but  she  's  sacwificed  by  her  father 
She  as  much  as  told  me  so  ! 

Evelyn.  So,  so,  gentlemen,  wc  've  a  little  account 
to  settle  —  one  hundred  each. 

Both.     Don't  talk  of  it. 

Evelyn  {putting  up  his  poclcet-hoolc).  Well,  I  '11 
not  talk  of  it !  —  {Talimj  Blount  aside.)  Ha  !  ha ! 
you  'd  hardly  believe  it  —  but  I  'd  rather  not  pay 
you  just  at  present :  my  money  is  locked  up,  and  I 
must  wait,  you  know,  for  the  Groginhole  rents.  So, 
instead  of  owing  you  one  hundred  pounds,  suppose  I 
owe  you  five  ?  You  can  give  me  a  check  for  the 
other  four.  And,  hark  ye  !  not  a  word  to  Gloss- 
more. 

Blount.  Glossmore  !  the  gweatcst  gossip  in  Lon- 
don !  I  shall  be  delighted  !  —  {Aside.)  It  never 
does  harm  to  lend  to  a  wich  man  ;  one  gets  it  back 
somehow.  By  the  way,  Evelyn,  if  you  want  my 
gway  cab-horse,  you  may  have  him  for  two  hundwed 
pounds,  and  that  will  make  seven. 

Evelyn  (aside).  That 's  the  fasliionable  usury  : 
your  friend  does  not  take  interest  —  he  sells  you  a 
horse.  —  {Aloud.)     Blount,  it 's  a  bargain. 

Blount  {writing  the  check,  and  musingly).  No ;  I 
don't  see  what  harm  it  can  do  me  ;  that  off-leg  must 
end  in  a  spavin. 


SCENE  in.]  MONEY.  415 

Evehjn  (to  Glossmore).  That  hundred  pounds 
I  owe  you  is  rather  inconvenient  at  present ;  I  've  a 
large  sum  to  make  up  for  the  Groginhole  property 
—  perhaps  you  would  lend  me  five  or  six  hundred 
more  —  just  to  go  on  with  ? 

Gloss.  Certainly  !  Hopkins  is  dead  :  your  inter- 
est for  Cipher  would  — 

Evelyn.  Why,  I  can't  promise  that  at  this  mo- 
ment. But  as  a  slight  mark  of  fi-iendship  and  grati- 
tude, I  shall  be  very  much  flattered  if  you  '11  accept 
a  splendid  gray  cab-horse  I  bought  to-day  —  cost 
two  hundred  pounds  ! 

Gloss.  Bought  to-day  !  —  then  I  'm  safe.  My 
dear  fellow,  you  're  always  so  princely  ! 

Evelyn.  Nonsense  !  just  write  the  check  ;  and, 
hark  ye,  not  a  syllable  to  Blount ! 

Gloss.     Blount !     He  's  the  town-crier  ! 

\_Goes  to  imte. 

Blount  {giving  Evelyx  the  check).  Wansom's, 
Pall-mall  East. 

Evelyn.  Thank  you.  So  you  proposed  to  Miss 
Douglas  ! 

Blount.  Hang  it !  yes ;  I  could  have  sworn  that 
she  fancied  me ;  her  manner,  for  instance,  that 
vewy  (lay  you  pwoposed  for  Miss  Vesey,  otherwise 
Georgina  — 

Evelyn.     Has  only  half  what  Miss  Douglas  has. 

Blount.  You  forget  how  much  Stingy  Jack  must 
have  saved  !     But  I  beg  your  pardon. 

Evelyn.  Never  mind ;  but  not  a  word  to  Sir 
John,  or  he  '11  fancy  T  'm  ruined. 


416  MONEY.  [act  it 

Gloss,  (giving  the  check).  Ransom's,  Pall-mall 
East.     Tell  me,  did  you  win  oi'  lose  last  night  ? 

Evelyn.  Win  !  lose  !  oh  !  No  more  of  that,  if 
you  love  me.  I  must  send  off  at  once  to  the  bank- 
er's (looking  at  the  two  checks). 

Gloss,  (aside).  Why !  he  's  borrowed  from  Blount, 
too! 

Blount  (aside).  That  's  a  check  from  Lord 
Glossmore  ! 

Evelyn.  Excuse  me  ;  I  must  dress  ;  I  have  not  a 
moment  to  lose.  You  remember  you  dine  with  me 
to-day  —  seven  o'clock.  You  '11  meet  Smooth. 
(  With  tears  in  his  voice.)  It  may  be  the  last  time 
I  shall  ever  Avelcome  you  here  !  My  —  what  am  I 
saying?  —  Oh,  merely  a  joke!  —  good  by  —  good 
by. 

[Shaking  them  heartily  by  the  hand.  Exit  by  the 
inner  room. 

Blount.     Glossmore ! 

Gloss.     Blount ! 

Blount.     I  am  afraid  all 's  not  wight ! 

Gloss.     I  incline  to  your  opinion  ! 

Blount.     But  I  've  sold  my  gway  cab-horse. 

Gloss.  Gray  cab-horse  !  you  !  What  is  he  really 
worth  now  ? 

Blount.  Since  he  is  sold,  I  will  tell  you  —  Not  a 
sixpence  ! 

Gloss.     Not  a  sixpence  ?  he  gave  it  to  me  ! 

[Evelyn  at  the  door  giving  directions  to  a  Servant 
in  dumb  shmo. 


SCENE  IV-l  MONKY.  417 

Blount.  That  was  devilish  unhandsome  !  Do 
you  know,  I  feel  nervous ! 

Gloss.  Nervous  I  Let  us  run  and  stop  payment 
of  our  checks. 

[EvELYX  shu/s  the  door.,  and  Servant  runs  across 
the  stage. 

Blount.     Hollo,  John  !  where  so  fast  V 
Servant  (in  great  haste).     Beg  pardon,  Sir  Fred- 
erick, to  Pall-mall  East  —  Messrs.  Ransom. 

[^Exit. 
Blount  (solemnly).     Glossmore,  we  are  fwoored  ? 
Gloss.     Sir,  the  whole  town  shall  know  of  it. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 
Enter  ToicE  and  other  Servants. 

Toke.  Come,  come,  stir  yourselves  !  we  've  no 
time  to  lose.  This  room  is  to  be  got  ready  for  the 
shawls.  Mrs.  Crump  and  the  other  ladies  of  the 
household  are  to  wait  here  on  the  women  before 
they  go  up  to  the  drawing-room.  Take  away 
that  desk ;  don't  be  lazy  !  and  give  me  the  news- 
paper. 

[TOKE  seats  himself;  the  Servants  hnslle  about. 

Strange  reports  about  my  patron  !  and  the  walley 
is  gone  for  the  passport ! 

Enter  Frantz  toilh  a  bundle. 
27 


418  MONEY.  [ACT  IV 

Frantz.  Islv.  Toke,  my  goot  Mr.  Toke,  I  've 
brought  you  von  leetel  present. 

Toke.     John  and  Charles,  vanish ! 

\Exeunt  Servants. 

I  scorn  to  corrupt  them  'ere  working  classes  ! 

Frantz  {producing  a  pair  of  small-clothes  wliich 
Toke  examines').  Your  master  is  von  beggar! 
He  vants  to  run  avay ;  ve  are  aU  in  de  same  vat- 
you-call-it  —  de  same  leetel  nasty  boat,  Mr.  Toke  ! 
Just  let  my  friend  Mr.  Clutch  up  through  the  area. 
I  vil  put  vat  you  call  un  execution  on  de  gutes  and 
de  catties  dis  very  tay. 

Toke.  I  accept  the  abridgments:  but  you've 
forgotten  to  line  the  pockets ! 

Frantz.  Blesh  my  soul,  so  I  have  !  (giving  a 
note). 

Toke.  The  area-gate  shall  be  left  undefended. 
Do  it  quietly  —  no  claw,  as  the  French  say. 

Frantz.  Goot  Mr.  Toke  —  to-morrow  I  vill  line 
de  oter  pocket.  \_Exit. 

Toke.     My  patron  does  not  give  me  satisfaction  ! 

Enter  Footman. 

Footman.  What  chandeliers  are  to  be  lighted, 
Mr.  Toke  ?  —  it 's  getting  late. 

Toke.  Don't  disturb  me  —  I  'm rum-m}nating  !  — 
yes,  yes,  there  's  no  doubt  of  it !  Charles,  the  ai-ea- 
gate  is  open  ? 

Footman.  And  all  the  plate  in  the  pantry  !  I  '11 
run  and  — 

Toke.     Not  a  step  !  leave  it  open. 


80KNE  v.]  MONEY.  419 

Footman.     But  — 

Take  (with  dignilij).     It 's  for  the  sake  of  wentila- 
tion !  [_Exeunt. 


SCENE   V. 

A  splendid  saloon  in  Evelyn's  house, 

Evelyn  and  Graves. 

Graves.     You  've   withdrawu   your  money  from 
Flasli  and  Brisk  ? 
Evelyn.     No. 
Gra  ves .     No  !  —  then  — 

Enter  Sir  John,  Lady  Franklin,  and 
Georgina. 

Sir  John,  You  got  the  check  for  500Z.  safely  ?  — 
too  happy  to  — 

Evelyn  {interrupting  him).  My  best  thanks !  — 
Tiy  warmest  gratitude  !  So  kind  in  you  !  so  season- 
able ! —  that  500/.  —  you  don't  know  the  value  of 
500Z.  I  shall  never  forget  your  nobleness  of  con- 
duct. 

Sir  John.  Gratitude  !  Nobleness  !  —  (Aside.) 
I  can't  have  been  taken  in  ? 

Evelyn.     And  in  a  moment  of  such  distress ! 

Sir  John  (aside).  Such  distress  !  He  picks  out 
the  ugliest  words  in  the  whole  dictionary ! 

Evelyn.  I  've  done  with  Smooth.  But  I  'm  still 
a  little  crippled,  and  you  must  do  me  another  favor. 


420  MONEY.  Iact  it. 

I've  only  as  yet  paid  the  deposit  of  ten  per  cent  for 
the  great  Groginhole  property.  I  am  to  pay  the 
rest  this  week  —  nay,  1  fear  to-morrow.  I  've 
already  sold  out  of  the  Funds ;  the  money  lies  at 
the  banker's,  and  of  course  I  can't  touch  it ;  for  if  I 
don't  pay  by  a  certain  day,  I  forfeit  the  estate  and 
the  deposit. 

Sir  John.     What 's  coming  now,  I  wonder  ? 

Evelyn.  Georgina's  fortune  is  10,000/.  I  alway? 
meant,  my  dear  Sir  John,  to  present  you  with  that 
little  sum. 

Sir  John.  Oh,  Evelyn  !  your  genei'osity  is  posi- 
tivel}'  touching  (wipes  his  eyes). 

Evelyn.  But  the  news  of  my  losses  has  frightened 
my  tradesmen  !  I  have  so  many  heavy  debts  at  this 
moment  that  —  that  —  that —  But  I  see  Geor- 
gina  is  listening,  and  I  '11  say  what  I  have  to  say  to 
her. 

Sir  John.  No,  no  —  no,  no.  Girls  don't  under- 
stand business ! 

Evelyn.  The  very  reason  I  speak  to  her.  This 
is  an  affair  not  of  business,  but  of  feeling.  Stout, 
show  Sir  John  my  Correggio. 

Sir  John  (aside).  Devil  take  his  Correggio  !  The 
man  is  born  to  torment  me  ! 

Evelyn.  ]\Iy  dear  Georgina,  whatever  you  may 
hear  said  of  me,  I  flatter  myself  that  you  feel  con- 
iidence  in  my  honor. 

Georg.     Can  you  doubt  it  ? 

Evelyn.  I  confess  that  I  am  embarrassed  at  this 
moment :  I  have  been  weak  enough  to  lose  money 


SCENE  v.)  MONKV.  421 

at  play;  and  there  are  other  demands  on  me.  I 
promise  you  never  to  gamble  again  as  long  as  I  live. 
My  affairs  can  be  retrieved;  but  for  the  first  few 
years  of  our  marriage  it  may  be  necessary  to  retrench. 

Georg.     Retrench ! 

Evelyn.  To  live,  perhaps,  altogether  in  the 
country. 

Georg.     Altogether  in  the  countr}' ! 

Evelyn.  To  confine  ourselves  to  a  modest  com- 
petence. 

Georg.  Modest  competence  !  I  knew  something 
horrid  was  coming ! 

Evelyn.  And  now,  Georgina,  you  may  have  it  in 
your  power  at  this  moment  to  save  me  from  much 
anxiety  and  humiliation.  My  money  is  locked  up 
— my  debts  of  honor  must  be  settled  —  you  are  of 
age  —  your  10,000^.  in  your  own  hands  — 

Sir  John  (Stout  listening  as  well  as  Siu  John). 
I  'm  standing  on  hot  iron  ! 

Evelyn.  If  you  could  lend  it  to  me  for  a  few 
weeks  —  You  hesitate  !  oh  !  believe  the  honor  of 
the  man  you  will  call  your  husband  before  all  the 
calumnies  of  the  fools  whom  we  call  the  world  !  Can 
you  give  me  this  proof  of  your  confidence  ?  Re- 
member, without  confidence,  what  is  wedlock  ? 

Sir  John  (aside  to  her).  No!  (Aloud,  ■pointing 
his  glass  at  the  Correggio.)  Yes,  the  painting  may 
be  fine. 

Stout.     But  you  don't  lilce  the  subject  ? 

Georg.  (aside).  He  may  be  only  trying  me ! 
Best  leave  it  to  papa. 


422  MONEY.  [act  IV 

Evehjn.     Well  — 

Georg.  You  —  you  sliall  hear  from  me  to-mor- 
row. —  (^Aside.)  Ah,  there  's  that  dear  Sir  Fred- 
erick !  \_Goes  to  Blount, 

Bnter  Glossmore  and  Smooth  ;  Evelyn  saluies 
them,  paying  Smooth  servile  respect. 

Lady  F.  {to  Graves).  Ha !  ha  I  To  be  so  dis- 
turbed yesterday,  —  was  it  not  droll  ? 

Graves.     Never  recur  to  that  humiliating  topic. 

Gloss,  (to  Stout).  See  how  Evelyn  fawns  upon 
Smooth ! 

Stout.  How  mean  in  him  !  —  Smooth  —  a  profes- 
sional gambler  —  a  fellow  who  lives  by  his  wits  !  1 
would  not  know  such  a  man  on  any  account ! 

Smooth  (to  Globs.).  So  Hopkins  is  dead  —  you 
want  Cipher  to  come  in  for  Groginhole,  eh  ? 

Gloss.     What !  —  could  you  manage  it  ? 

Smooth.      Ce  cher  Charles  '  —  anything  to  oblige  ! 

Stout.  Groginhole  !  What  can  he  have  to  do 
with  Groginhole  ?  Glossmore,  present  me  to 
Smooth. 

Gloss.  What  !  the  gambler  —  the  fellow  who 
lives  by  his  wits  ? 

Stout.  Why,  his  wits  seem  to  be  an  uncommonly 
productive  capital  ?  I  '11  introduce  myself  How 
d'  ye  do,  Captain  Smooth  ?  We  have  met  at  the 
club,  I  think  —  I  am  charmed  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance in  private.  I  say,  sir,  what  do  you  tliink  of 
the  afiairs  of  the  nation  ?  Bad !  very  bad !  —  no 
enlightenment !  —  great  fall  off  in  the  revenue  !  — 


ROUSE  v.]  MONEY.  423 

no  knowledge  of  finance  !  There  's  only  one  man 
who  can  save  the  country  —  and  that 's  Popkins  ! 

Smoolli.  Is  he  In  Parliament,  Mr.  Stout  V  What 's 
your  Christian  name,  by-the-by  V 

Stout.  Benjamin.  —  No ;  —  constituencies  are  so 
ignorant,  they  don't  understand  his  value.  He  's  no 
orator :  in  fact,  he  stammers  so  mvich  —  but  devilish 
profound.  Could  not  we  insure  him  for  Grogin- 
hole  V 

Smooth.  My  dear  Benjamin,  it 's  a  thing  to  be 
thought  on. 

Evelyn  (advancing).  My  friends,  pray  be  seated  ; 
—  I  wish  to  consult  you.  This  day  twelve  months 
I  succeeded  to  an  immense  income,  and  as,  by  a 
happy  coincidence,  on  the  same  day  I  secured  your 
esteem,  so  now  I  wish  to  ask  you  if  you  think  I  could 
have  spent  that  income  in  a  way  more  worthy  your 
good  opinion. 

Gloss.  Impossible  !  excellent  taste  —  beautiful 
house ! 

Blount.  Vewy  good  horses  —  (Aside  to  Gloss- 
more)  especially  the  gway  cab ! 

Lady  F.     Splendid  pictures  ! 

Graves.     And  a  magnificent  cook,  ma'am  ! 

Smooth  {thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets).  It 's 
my  opinion,  Alfred  —  and  I  'm  a  judge  —  that  you 
could  not  have  spent  your  money  better ! 

Omnes  (except  Sir  John).     Very  true  ! 

Evelyn.  What  say  you,  Sir  John  ?  You  may 
think  me  a  little  extravagant ;  but  you  know  that  in 
this  world  the  only  way  to  show  one's  self  thoroughly 


424  MONEY.  [act  it 

respectable  is  to  make  a  thoroughly  respectable 
show. 

Sh'  John.  Certainly  —  certainly  !  No,  you 
could  not  have  done  better.  (Aside.)  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  it. 

Georg.  Certainly.  —  {Coaxingly.)  Don't  re- 
trench, my  dear  iVlfred  ! 

Gloss.     Retrench  !  nothing  so  plebeian  ! 

Stout.  Plebeian,  sir !  —  worse  than  plebeian  !  —  it 
is  against  all  the  rules  of  public  morality.  Every 
one  knows,  now-a-days,  that  extravagance  is  a 
benefit  to  the  population  —  encourages  art  —  em- 
ploys labor  —  and  multiplies  spinning-jennies. 

Evelijn.  You  reassure  me !  I  own  I  did  think 
that  a  man  worthy  of  friends  so  sincere  might  have 
done  something  better  than  feast  —  dress  —  drink 
—  play  — 

Glosa.  Nonsense  —  we  like  you  the  better  for  it. 
(^Aside.)  I  wish  I  had  my  600/.  back,  though. 

Evelyn.  And  you  are  as  much  my  friends  now 
as  when  you  offered  me  IQL  for  my  old  nurse  ? 

Sir  John.  A  thousand  times  more  so,  m}-  dear 
boy!  \_Omnes  approve. 

Enter  Sharp. 

Smooth.     But  who  's  our  new  friend  ? 

Evelyn.  Who  !  the  very  man  wlio  first  an- 
nounced to  me  the  wealth  which  you  allow  I  have 
spent  so  well.     But  what 's  the  matter,  Sharp  '^ 

Sharp  (ivhisperiny  Evel  I'x). 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  425 

Evelyn  (aloud).     The  bank  's  broke  ! 

Sir  John.     Broke  !  —  what  bank  ? 

Evelyn.     Flash,  Brisk,  and  Co. 

Gloss,  (to  Smooth).  And  Flash  was  your 
brother-in-law.     I  'm  very  sorry. 

Smooth  (tallng  snuff).  Not  at  all,  Charles,  —  1 
did  not  bank  there. 

Sir  John.     But  I  warned  you  —  you  withdrew  ? 

Evelyn.     Alas  !  no  ! 

Sir  John.     Oh  !     Not  much  in  their  hands  ? 

Evelyn.  Why,  I  told  j'ou  the  purchase-money 
for  Groginhole  was  at  my  bankers'  —  but  no,  no 
don't  look  so  frightened  !  It  was  not  placed  with 
Flash  —  it  is  at  Hoare's  —  It  is,  indeed.  Nay,  I 
assure  you  it  is.  A  mere  trifle  at  Flash's,  upon  my 
■word,  now !  To-morrow,  Sharp,  we  '11  talk  of  this ! 
One  day  more  —  one  day,  at  least,  for  enjoyment 

Sir  John.     Oh !  a  pretty  enjoyment ! 

Blount.     And  he  borrowed  700/.  of  me  ! 

Gloss.     And  600Z.  ofme! 

Sir  John.     And  500/.  of  me  I 

Stout.     Oh  !  a  regular  Jeremy  Diddler ! 

Smooth  (to  Sir  Joiix).  John,  do  you  know,  I 
think  I  Avould  take  a  handsome  offer  for  this  house 
just  as  it  stands  —  furniture,  plate,  pictures,  books, 
bronzes,  and  statues ! 

Sir  John.     Powers  aboA'e  ! 

Stout  (to  Sir  Joiix).  I  say  you  have  placed 
your  daughter  in  a  very  unsafe  investment.  What 
then  ?  —  a  daughter 's  like  any  other  capital  — 
transfer  the  stock  in  hand  to  t'  other  speculation. 


426  MONEY.  [act  it. 

Sir  John  (going  to  Georg.).  Ha !  I  'm  afraid 
we  've  been  very  rude  to  Sir  Frederick.  A  moa- 
strous  fine  young  man  ! 

Enter  Toke. 

Take  (to  Evelyn).  Sir,  I' beg  your  pardon,  but 
Mr.  MacFinch  insists  on  my  giving  you  this  letter 
instantly. 

Evelyn  (reading).  How  !  Sir  John,  this  fellow, 
MacFinch,  has  heard  of  my  misfortunes,  and  insists 
on  being  paid  ;  —  a  lawyer's  letter  —  quite  in- 
solent ! 

Tohe.  And,  sir,  Mr.  Tabouret  is  below,  and 
declares  he  won't  stir  till  he  's  paid. 

Evelyn.  Won't  stir  till  he  's  paid !  What 's  to 
be  done,  Sir  John  ?  —  Smooth,  what  is  to  be  done  ? 

Smooth.  If  he  won't  stir  till  he  's  paid,  make  him 
up  a  bed,  and  I  '11  take  him  in  the  inventory  as  one 
of  the  fixtures,  Alfred  ! 

Evelyn.  It  is  very  well  for  you  to  joke,  Mr. 
Smooth.     But  — 

Enter  SherifTs  Officer,  giving  a  paper  to  Evelyn, 
and  whispering. 

Evelyn.  What  's  this  ?  Frantz,  the  tailor. 
"Wliy,  the  impudent  scoundrel !  Faith,  this  is  more 
than  I  bargained  for —  Sir  John,  the  bailiffs  ai-e  in 
the  house ! 

Stout  (slapping  Sir  John  on  the  bach  wiOi  glee). 
The  bailiffs  are  in  the  house,  old  gentleman  !  But 
I  did  n't  lend  him  a  farthing. 


BCENE   V.J  MONEY.  427 

Evelyn.  And  for  a  mere  song  —  150Z.  !  Sir 
John,  pay  this  fellow,  will  you  ?  or  see  that  my 
people  kick  out  the  baililfs,  or  do  it  yourself,  or 
something,  —  while  we  go  to  dinner  ! 

Sir  John.     Pay  —  kick  —  I  '11  be  d^ d  if  I  do  ! 

—  Oh,  my  500;.  !  my  500Z. !     Mr.  Alfred  Evelyn,  I 
want  my  500Z. ! 

Graves.  I'm  going  to  do  a  very  silly  thing  —  I 
shall  lose  both  my  friend  and  my  money ;  — just  like 
my  lurk  !  —  Evelyn,  go  to  dinner  —  I  '11  settle  this 
for  you. 

Lady   F.     I  love  you  for  that ! 

Graves.  Do  jou  ?  then  I  am  the  happiest  —  Ah  1 
ma'am,  I  don't  know  what  I  am  saying  ! 

\_Exeunt  Graves  and  Officer. 

Evelyn  (to  Georg.).  Don't  go  by  these  appear- 
ances !  I  repeat  10,000L  will  more  than  cover  all 
my  embarrassments.  I  shall  hear  from  you  to-mor- 
row ? 

Georg.    Yes  —  yes ! 

Evelyn.  But  you  're  not  going  ?  —  You,  too, 
Glossmore  ?  —  you,  Blount  ?  —  you.  Stout  ?  —  you, 
Smooth  ? 

Smooth.  No  ;  I  '11  stick  by  you  as  long  as  you  've 
a  guinea  to  stake  ! 

Gloss.  Oh,  this  might  have  been  expected  from 
a  man  of  such  ambiguous  political  opinions  ! 

Stout.  Don't  stop  me.  Sir.  No  man  of  common 
enlightenment  would  have  squandered  his  substance 
in  this  way.     Pictures  and  statues  ?  — baugh  ! 

Evelyn.     Why,  you  all  said  I  could  not  spend  my 


428  MONEY.  [act  nr, 

money  better  !  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  —  the  absurdest  mis- 
take ! —  you  don't  fancy  I'm  going  to  prison?  — 
Ha  !  ha  !  —  Why  don't  you  laugli,  Sir  John  ?  — 
Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Sir  John.  Sir,  this  horrible  levity  !  —  Take  Sir 
Frederick's  arm,  my  poor,  injured,  innocent  child  I 
—  Mr.  Evelyn,  after  this  extraordinary  scene,  you 
can't  be  surprised  that  I  —  I  —  Zounds!  I'm  suffo- 
cating ! 

Smooth.  But,  my  dear  John,  it  is  for  us  at  least 
to  put  an  execution  on  the  dinner. 

Slout  (^aside).  The  election  at  Groginhole  is  to- 
morrow. This  news  may  not  arrive  before  the  poll 
closes.  —  (RitsJdng  to  Evelyn.)  Sir,  Popkins 
never  bribes  :  but  Popkins  will  bet  you  1,000/. 
that  he  don't  come  in  for  Groginhole. 

Gloss.  This  is  infamous,  Mr.  Stout !  Cipher  is  a 
man  who  scorns  every  subterfuge  !  —  (^Aside  to 
Evelyn.)  But,  for  the  sake  of  the  Constitution, 
name  your  price. 

Evelyn.  I  know  the  services  of  Cipher  —  I  know 
the  profundity  of  Popkins  :  but  it 's  too  late  —  the 
borough 's  engaged ! 

Toke.     Dinner  is  served. 

Gloss,  (^pausing).     Dinner ! 

Stout.     Dinner  !  it 's  a  very  good  smell ! 

Evelyn  (to  Sir  John).  Turtle  and  venison,  too. 
[They  stop  irremlute. 

Evelyn.  That 's  right  —  come  along.  But,  I  say, 
Blount  —  Stout  —  Glossmore  —  Sir  John  —  one 
word  first;  will  you  lend  me  lOl.  for  my  old 
nurs ;  ?  [  They  all  fall  back. 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  429 

Ah  !  you  fall  back.  —  Behold  a  lesson  for  all  who 
build  friendship  upon  their  fortune,  and  not  their 
virtues  !  —  You  lent  me  hundreds  this  morning  to 
squander  upon  pleasure  —  you  would  refuse  me  10/. 
now  to  bestow  upon  benevolence.  Go  —  we  have 
done  with  each  other  —  go  ! 
[Exeunt,  indignantly,  all  hut  Evelyn  and  Smooth. 

Re-enter  Graves. 

Grares.     Heyday! — what's  all  this? 

Evelyn.  Ha  !  ha  !  —  the  scheme  prospers  —  the 
duper  w  duped  !  Come,  my  friends  —  come  !  when 
the  standard  of  money  goes  down,  in  the  great  bat- 
tle between  man  and  fate  —  why,  a  bumper  to  the 
brave  hearts  that  refuse  to  desert  us  !       [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

ScEms  I.  —  *  *  *  *  *'s  Club;   Smooth,   Glossmoke  — 

other  Members. 

Gloss.     W'll  his  horses  be  sold,  think  you  ? 

Smooth.  Very  possibly,  Charles !  —  a  fine  stud  — 
hum !  ha !  —  Waiter,  a  glass  of  sherry  ! 

Gloss.     They  say  he  must  go  abroad. 

Smooth,  ^^'^ell !  it 's  the  best  time  of  year  for 
travelling,  Charles ! 

Gloss.  We  are  all  to  be  paid  to-day :  and  tliat 
looks  suspicious ! 

Smooth.  Very  suspicious,  Charles  !  Hum  !  — 
ah! 

Gloss.  ]\Iy  dear  fellow,  you  must  know  the 
rights  of  the  matter :  I  wish  you  'd  speak  out. 
What  have  you  really  won  ?  Is  the  house  itself 
gone  ? 

Smooth.  The  house  itself  is  certainly  not  gone, 
Charles,  for  I  saw  it  exactly  in  the  same  place  this 
morning  at  half-past  ten  —  it  has  not  moved  an  inch ! 
[Waiter  gives  a  letter  to  Glossmoke. 

Gloss,  (reading).  From  Groginhole  —  an  ex- 
press !  What 's  this  ?  I  'm  amazed  !  !  !  {Read- 
ing.') "  They've  actually,  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
started  Mr.  Evelyn ;  and  nobody  knows  what  his 
politics  are  !  We  shall  be  heat !  —  the  Constitution 
is  gone  !  —  Cipher  !  "     Oh  !   this   is   infamous   in 


SCESE  I.]  MONEY.  431 

Evelyn  !  Gets  into  Parliament  just  to  keep  himself 
out  of  the  Bench. 

Smooth.     He  's  capable  of  it ! 

Gloss.  Not  a  doubt  of  it,  sir!  —  Not  a  doubt 
of  it! 

Enter  Sir  John  and  Blount,  talking. 

Sir  John.  My  dear  boy,  I  'm  not  flint !  I  am 
but  a  man  !  If  Georgina  really  loves  you  —  and  I 
am  sure  that  she  does  —  I  will  never  think  of  sacri- 
ficing her  happiness  to  ambition  —  she  is  yours ;  I 
told  her  so  this  very  morning. 

Blount  (^aside).     The  old  humbug  ! 

Sir  John.  She  's  the  best  of  daughters  !  —  the 
most  obedient,  artless  creature !  Oh  !  she 's  been 
properly  bi'ought  up ;  a  good  daughter  makes  a 
good  wife.  Dine  with  me  at  seven,  and  we  '11  talk 
of  the  settlements. 

Blount.     Yes  ;  I  don't  care  for  fortune ;  —  but  — 

Sir  John.  Her  10,000/.  will  be  settled  on  herself 
—  that  of  course. 

Blount.     All  of  it,  sir  ?     Weally,  I  — 

Sir  John.  What  then,  my  dear  boy  ?  I  shall 
leave  you  both  all  I  've  laid  by.  Ah !  you  know 
I  'm  a  close  fellow  !  "  Stingy  Jack  "  —  eh  ?  After 
all,  worth  makes  the  man  ! 

Smooth.  And  the  more  a  man 's  worth,  John,  the 
worthier  man  he  must  be  !  \_Exit. 

Blount  (aside).  Yes  ;  he  has  no  other  child  !  she 
must  have  all  his  savings  ;  I  don't  see  what  harm  it 
could   do   me.     Still   that   10,000^.  —  I   want  that 


i32  MONEY.  [act  V 

10,000Z. ;  if  she  would  but  -vvun  off  now,  one  could 
get  wid  of  the  settlements. 

Enter  Stout  (wiping  his  forehead'),  and  takes  Sir 
John  aside. 

Stout.  Sir  John,  we  *ve  been  played  upon  !  My 
secretary  is  brother  to  Flash's  head  clerk ;  Evelyn 
had  not  300/.  in  the  bank  ! 

Sir  John.  Bless  us  and  save  us  I  you  take  away 
my  breath  !  But  then  —  Deadly  Smooth  —  the 
execution  —  the  —  oh,  he  must  be  done  up  ! 

Stout.  As  to  Smooth,  he  'd  "  do  anytliing  to 
oblige."  All  a  trick,  depend  upon  it !  Smooth  has 
already  deceived  me,  for  before  the  day 's  over 
Evelyn  will  be  member  for  Groginhole.  I  've  had 
an  express  from  Popkins;  he  's  in  despair  !  not  for 
himself —  but  for  the  country.  Sir  John  —  what 's  to 
become  of  the  country  ? 

Sir  John.     But  what  could  be  Evelyn's  object  ? 

Stout.  Object?  Do  you  look  for  an  object  in  a 
whimsical  creature  like  that  ?  A  man  who  has  not 
even  any  political  opinions  !  Object !  Perhaps  to 
break  off  his  match  with  your  daughter  !  Take 
care,  Sir  John,  or  the  borough  will  be  lost  to  your 
family  ! 

Sir  John.  Aha !  I  begin  to  smell  a  rat !  But  it 's 
not  too  late  yet. 

Stout.  INIy  interest  in  Popkins  made  me  run  to 
Lord  Spendrpiick,  the  late  proprietor  of  Groginhole. 
I  told  him  that  Evelyn  could  not  pay  the  rest  of  the 
money  ;  and  he  told  me  that  — 


SCENE  I.]  MONEY.  433 

Sir  John.     What  ? 

Stout.  Mr.  Sharp  had  just  paid  it  him  ;  there  's 
no  hope  for  Popkins  !  England  will  rue  this 
day ! 

Sir  John.  Georgina  shall  lend  him  the  money ! 
I'll  lend  him  —  every  man  in  my  house  shall  lend 
him  —  I  feel  again  what  it  is  to  be  a  father-in-law  ! 
—  (^  side^  But  stop ;  I  '11  be  cautious.  Stout  may 
be  on  his  side  —  a  trap  —  not  likely;  but  I'll  go 
first  to  Spendquick  myself.  Sir  Frederick,  excuse 
me  —  you  can't  dine  with  me  to-day.  And,  on  sec- 
ond thoughts,  I  see  tliat  it  would  be  very  unhand- 
some to  desert  poor  Evelyn,  now  he  's  down  in  the 
world.  Can't  think  of  it,  my  dear  boy  —  can't  think 
of  it !  Very  much  honored,  and  happy  to  see  you 
as  a  friend.  Waiter,  my  carriage  !  Um  !  What, 
humbug  Siinr/}/  Jack,  will  they  ?  Ah  !  a  good  joke, 
indeed !  [^Exit. 

Blount.  Mr.  Stout,  what  have  you  been  saying 
to  Sir  John  '?  Something  against  my  chawacter ;  I 
know  you  have  ;  don't  deny  it.  Sir,  I  shall  expect 
satisfaction ! 

Stout.  Satisfaction,  Sir  Frederick  ?  as  if  a  man 
of  enlightenment  had  any  satisfaction  in  fighting  I 
Did  not  mention  your  name ;  we  were  talking  of 
Evelyn.  Only  think  !  —  he 's  no  more  ruined  than 
you  are. 

Blount.  Not  wuined  !  Aha,  now  I  understand  I 
■ —  So,  so  !  Stay,  let  me  see  —  she  's  to  meet  me  in 
the  squai-e  ! 

\_PuUfi  Old  his  toatch  ;  a  very  small  one. 
28 


434  MO>»EY.  [ACT  T. 

Stout  ( pulling  out  Jus  mon  ;  a  very  large  one).  I 
must  be  off  to  the  vestry. 

Blount.  Just  in  time  !  —  ten  thousand  pounds  1 
'Gad,  my  blood  's  up,  and  I  won't  be  tweated  in  this 
"wsLy,  if  he  were  fifty  times  Stingy  Jack' 

[Exit. 


SCENE   II. 

The  drawing-rooms  in  Sik  John  Veset's  house. 

Lady  Feanklin,  Graves. 

Graves.  Well,  well,  I  am  certain  that  poor  Eve- 
lyn loves  Clara  still,  but  you  can't  persuade  me  that 
she  cares  for  him. 

Lachj  F.  She  ha§  been  breaking  her  heart  ever 
sinc6  she  heard  of  his  distress.  Nay,  I  am  sure  she 
would  give  all  she  has,  could  it  save  him  from  the 
consequences  of  his  own  folly. 

Graves  {half  aside).  She  would  only  give  him 
his  own  money,  if  she  did.  I  should  like  just  to 
sound  her. 

Larfi/  F.  {rincjing  the  hell).  And  you  shall.  I 
take  so  much  interest  in  her,  that  I  forgive  your 
fi'iend  everything  but  his  offer  to  Georgina. 

Enter  Servant. 

Where  are  the  young  ladies  ? 
Servant.     Miss  Vesey  is,  I   believe,  still  in  the 
square  :  JMiss  Douglas  is  just  come  in,  my  lady. 


SCENE  II.]  MONEY.  435 

Lady  F.  What  I  did  she  go  out  with  liliss 
Vesey  ? 

Servant  No,  my  lady  !  I  attended  her  to  Drum- 
mond's  the  banker.  \_Exit. 

Lady  F.     Drummond's  I 

Enter  Clara. 

Why,  child,  what  on  earth  could  take  you  to 
Drummond's  at  this  hour  of  the  day  ? 

Clara  {confused).  Oh,  I  —  that  is  —  I  —  Ah,  Mr. 
Graves  !  How  is  Mr.  Evelyn  V  How  does  he  bear 
up  against  so  sudden  a  reverse  ? 

Graves.  With  an  awful  calm.  I  fear  all  is  not 
right  here!  {Touching  his  head).  —  The  report  in 
the  town  is,  that  he  must  go  abroad  instantly, — 
perhaps  to-d;\y  ! 

Clara.     Abroad  !  —  to-day  ! 

Graves.  But  all  his  creditors  will  be  paid ;  and 
he  only  seems  anxious  to  know  if  Miss  Vesey  re- 
mains true  in  his  misfortunes. 

Clara.     Ah  !  he  loves  her  so  much,  then  ! 

Graves.     Um  ! — that 's  more  than  I  can  say. 

Clara.  She  told  me  last  night,  that  he  said  to  the 
last  that  10,000^.  would  free  him  from  all  his  liabili- 
ties, —  that  was  the  sum,  was  it  not  ? 

Graves.  Yes ;  he  persists  in  the  same  assertion. 
Will  Miss  Vesey  lend  it  ? 

Lady  F.  (aside).  If  she  does,  I  shall  not  think 
so  well  of  her  poor  dear  mother;  for  I  am  sure 
she  'd  be  no  child  of  Sir  John's  ! 

Graves.     I  should  like  to  convince  m}self  that 


436  MONEY.  [act    v. 

my  poor  friend  has  nothing  to  hope  from  a  woman's 
generosity'. 

Lathj  F.  Civil  !  And  are  men,  tlien,  less  cov- 
etous V 

Graves.  I  know  one  man,  at  least,  who,  rejectea 
in  his  poverty  by  one  as  poor  as  himself,  no  sooner 
came  into  a  sudden  fortune  than  he  made  his  law 
yer  invent  a  codicil  which  the  testator  never  dreamt 
of,  bequeathing  independence  to  the  woman  who 
had  scorned  him. 

Lady  F.     And  never  told  her ! 

Graves.  Never  !  There  's  no  such  document  at 
Doctors'  Commons,  depend  on  it !  You  seem  in- 
credulous, Miss  Clara !     Good-day  ! 

Clara  {following  Jiim).  One  word,  for  mercy's 
sake  !  Do  I  understand  you  right  ?  Ah,  how  could 
1  be  so  blind  ?     Generous  Evelyn  ! 

Graves.     You  appreciate,  and   Georgina  will  de- 
sert him.     Miss   Douglas,  he  loves  you  still.  —  I 
that 's  not  just  like  me  !     Meddling  with  other  peo- 
ple's affairs,  as  if  they  were  worth  it  —  hang  them  ! 

\_Exit. 

Clara.  Georgina  will  desert  him.  Do  you  think 
80  ?  —  {Aside.)  Ah,  he  will  soon  discover  that  she 
never  wrote  that  letter  ! 

Lady  F.  She  told  me  last  night  that  she  would 
never  see  him  again.  To  do  her  justice,  she 's  less 
interested  than  her  father,  —  and  as  much  attached 
as  she  can  be  to  another.  Even  while  engaged  to 
Evelyn  she  has  met  Sir  Frederick  every  day  in  the 
square. 


BCESEnJ  MONEY.  437 

Clara.  And  he  is  alone  —  sad  —  forsaken  — 
ruined.  And  I,  -whom  he  enriched  —  I,  the  crea- 
ture of  his  bounty  —  I,  once  the  woman  of  his  love 

—  I  stand  idly  here  to  content  myself  with  tears 
and  prayers !  O,  Lady  Franklin,  have  pity  on  me 
■ —  on  him  !  We  are  both  of  kin  to  him  —  as  rela- 
tions we  have  both  a  right  to  comfort !  Let  us  go 
to  him —  come  ! 

Ladi/  F.  No  !  it  would  scarcely  be  right  —  re- 
member the  world  —  I  cannot ! 

Clara.     All  abandon  him  —  then  I  will  go  alone  ! 

Lady  F.     You  !  —  so  proud  —  so  sensitive  ! 

Clara.     Pride  —  when  he  wants  a  friend  ? 

Lady  F.  His  misfortunes  are  his  own  fault  —  a 
gambler ! 

Clara.  Can  you  think  of  his  faults  now  ?  /  have 
no  right  to  do  so.  All  I  have  —  all  —  his  gift !  — 
and  I  never  to  have  dreamed  it ! 

Lady  F.     But  if  Georgina  do  indeed  release  him 

—  if  she  have  already  done  so  —  what  will  he  think  ? 
What  but  — 

Clara.  What  but — that,  if  he  love  me  still,  I 
may  have  enough  for  both,  and  I  am  by  his  side  ! 
But  that  is  too  bright  a  dream.  He  told  me  I  might 
call  him  brother !     Where  now,  should  a  sister  be  ? 

—  But  —  but  —  I  —  I  —  I—  tremble  !     If,  after  all 

—  if —  if  —  In  one  word  am  I  too  bold  ?  The 
world  —  my  conscience  can  answer  that  —  but  do 
you  think  that  HE  could  despise  me  ? 

Lady  F.  No,  Clara,  no !  Your  fair  soul  is  too 
transparent    for    even    libertines    to    misconstrue. 


438  MONEY.  (ACT  T. 

Something  tells  me  that  this  meeting  may  make 
the  happiness  of  both  !  You  cannot  go  alone.  My 
presence  justifies  all.  Give  me  your  hand  —  we 
will  go  together!  \_Exeunt. 


SCENE  m. 

A  room  in  Evelyn's  house. 

Evelyn.  Yes;  as  yet,  all  surpasses  my  expecta- 
tions. I  am  sure  of  Smooth  —  I  have  managed 
even  Sharp :  my  election  will  seem  but  an  escape 
from  a  pi'ison.  Halhal  True,  it  cannot  last  long; 
but  a  few  hours  more  are  all  I  require,  and  for  that 
time  at  least  I  shall  hope  to  be  thoroughly  ruined. 

Enter  Graves. 

"Well,  Graves,  and  what  do  people  say  of  me  ? 

Graces.     Everything  that 's  bad  ! 

Evelyn.  Three  days  ago  I  was  universally  re- 
spected. I  awake  this  moi-ning  to  find  myself  singu- 
larly infamous.     Yet  I  'm  the  same  man. 

Graves.     Plumph  !  why  gambling  — 

Evelyn.  Cant !  it  was  not  criminal  to  gamble  — 
it  was  criminal  to  lose.  Tut! — will  you  deny  that 
if  I  had  ruined  Smooth  instead  of  myself,  every 
hand  would  have  grasped  mine  yet  more  cordially, 
and  every  lip  would  have  smiled  congratulation  on 
my  success  ?  Man  —  Man  !  I  've  not  been  rich  and 
poor  for  nothing  !     The  Vices  and  the  Virtues  are 


SCENE  III.]  MONEY.  439 

■written  in  a  language  the  World  cannot  construe ; 
it  reads  them  in  a  vile  translation,  and  the  transla- 
tors are  —  Failure  and  Success  !  You  alone  are 
unchanged. 

Graves.  There 's  no  merit  in  that.  I  am  always 
ready  to  mingle  my  tears  with  any  man.  —  {Aside.) 
I  know  I  'm  a  fool,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Hark  ye, 
Evelyn  !  I  like  you  —  I  'm  rich  ;  and  anything  I  can 
do  to  get  you  out  of  your  hobble  will  give  me  an 
excuse  to  grumble  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  There, 
now  it 's  out. 

Evelyn  {touched).  There 's  something  good  in 
human  nature  after  all !  My  dear  friend,  I  will 
now  confide  in  you :  I  am  not  the  spendthrift  you 
think  me  —  my  losses  have  been  trifling  —  not  a 
month's  income  of  my  fortune  (Graves  shakes  him 
heartily  by  the  hand).  No  !  —  it  has  been  but  a  strat- 
agem to  prove  if  the  love,  on  which  was  to  rest  the 
happiness  of  a  whole  life,  were  given  to  the  Money 
or  the  Man.  Now,  you  guess  why  I  have  asked 
from  Georgina  this  one  proof  of  confidence  and 
affection.  —  Tliink  you  she  will  give  it  ? 

Graves.  Would  you  break  your  heart  if  she  did 
not? 

Evelyn.  It  is  in  vain  to  deny  that  I  still  love 
Clara  ;  our  last  conversation  renewed  feelings 
which  would  task  all  the  energies  of  my  soul  to 
conquer.  What,  then?  I  am  not  one  of  those, 
the  Sybarites  of  sentiment,  who  deem  it  impossible 
for  humanity  to  conquer  love  —  who  call  their  own 
■weakness  the  voice  of  a  resistless  destiny.     Such  ia 


440  MONEY.  [act  v. 

the  poor  excuse  of  every  •woman  who  yields  her 
honor,  of  every  adulterer  who  betrays  his  fricud  ! 
No  !  the  heart  was  given  to  the  soul  as  its  ally,  not 
as  its  traitor. 

Graves.     What  do  you  tend  to? 

Evelyn.  This  :  —  If  Georgina  still  adhere  to  my 
fortunes  (and  I  will  not  put  her  to  too  harsh  a  trial)  ; 
if  she  can  face  the  prospect,  not  of  ruin  and  poverty, 
but  of  a  moderate  independence  ;  if,  in  one  word, 
she  love  me  for  myself,  I  will  shut  Clara  forever 
from  my  thoughts.  I  am  pledged  to  Georgina.  and 
I  will  carry  to  the  altar  a  soul  resolute  to  deserve 
her  affection  and  fulfil  its  vows. 

Graves.     And  if  she  reject  you  ? 

Evelyn  (^joyfully).  If  she  do,  I  am  free  once  more  I 
And  then  —  then  I  will  dare  to  ask,  for  I  can  ask 
without  dishonor,  if  Clara  can  explain  the  past  and 
bless  the  future  I 

Enter  Servant  with  a  letter. 

Evelyn  (after  reading  it).  The  die  is  cast  —  the 
dream  is  over  !  Generous  girl  I  O  Georgina !  I 
will  deserve  you  yet. 

Graves.     Georgina !  is  it  possible  ? 

Evelyn.  And  the  delicacy,  the  womanhood,  the 
exquisite  grace  of  this  !  How  we  misjudge  the 
depth  of  the  human  heart!  How  seeing  tlie  straws 
on  the  surfixce,  we  forget  that  the  pearls  may  lie 
hid  below  !  *  I  imagined  her  incapable  of  this  de- 
votion. 

*  "  Errors  like  straws,"  &c. 


SCENE  IV.]  MONEY.  441 

Graves.  And  I  too. 

Evelyn.  It  were  base  in  me  to  continue  this  trial 
a  moment  longer :  I  will  write  at  once  to  undeceive 
that  generous  heart  {wrilimj). 

Graves.  I  would  have  given  1,000Z.  if  that  little 
jade  Clara  had  been  beforehand.  But  just  like  my 
luck :  if  I  want  a  man  to  marry  one  woman,  he  's 
sure  to  marry  another  on  purpose  to  vex  me  ! 

[EVKLYN  rinc/x  the  bell. 

Enter  Servant. 

Evelyn.  Take  this  instantly  to  ]\'Iiss  Vesey  ;  say 
I  will  call  in  an  hour.  (Exit  Servant.)  And  now 
Clara  is  resigned  forever  !  Why  does  my  heart 
sink  within  me  ?  Why,  why,  looking  to  the  fate  to 
come,  do  I  see  only  the  memory  of  what  has  been  V 

Graves.     You  are  re-engaged  then  to  Georgina? 

Evelyn.     Irrevocably. 


SCENE  IV. 


Enter  Servant,  announcing  Lady  Franklin  and  Miss 
Douglas. 

Evelyn  and  Graves 

Lady  F.  My  dear  Evelyn,  you  may  think  it 
strange  to  receive  such  visitors  at  this  moment; 
but,  indeed,  it  is  no  time  for  ceremony.  We  are 
your  relations  —  it  is  reported   you  are  about  to 


442  -'.iONEY.  [act  V 

leave  the  country  —  we  come  to  ask  frankly  what 
we  can  do  to  serve  you  ? 

Evelyn.     Madam — I  — 

Lady  F.  Come,  come — do  not  hesitate  to  con- 
fide in  us ;  Clara  is  less  a  stranger  to  you  than  I  am : 
your  friend  here  will  perhaps  let  me  consult  with 
him.  —  (Aside  to  Graves.)  Let  us  leave  them  to 
themselves. 

Graves.  You  're  an  angel  of  a  widow ;  but  you 
come  too  late,  as  whatever  is  good  lor  anything 
generally  does. 

{They  retire  into  the  inner  room,  zcJiich  shnuld  be 
partially  open. 

Eretyn.  Miss  Douglas,  I  may  well  want  words  to 
thank  you ;  this  goodness  —  this  sympathy  — 

Clara  (abandoninr/  herself  to  her  emotion).  Evelyn  I 
Evelyn  !  Do  not  talk  thus  !  —  Goodness;  sympathy  ! 

—  I  have  learned  all  —  all !  It  is  for  me  to  speak  of 
gratitude  !  What !  even  when  I  had  so  wounded  you 

—  when  you  believed  me  mercenary  and  cold  — 
when  you  thought  that  I  was  blind  and  base  enough 
not  to  know  you  for  what  you  are;  —  even  at  thai 
time  you  thought  but  of  my  happiness  —  my  fortunes 

—  my  fate !  —  And  to  you  —  you  —  I  owe  all  that  has 
raised  the  poor  orphan  from  servitude  and  depend- 
ence !  While  your  words  were  so  bitter,  your  deeds 
so  gentle  !  Oh,  noble  Evelyn,  this  then  was  your 
revenge ! 

Evelyn.  You  owe  me  no  thanks  —  that  revenge 
was  sweet !  Think  you  it  was  nothing  to  feel  that 
my  presence  haunted  you,  though  you  knew  it  not  V 


SCENE  IV.J  MONEY.  443 

—  that  in  things,  the  pettiest  as  the  greatest,  which 
that  gold  could  buy  —  the  very  jewels  you  wore  — 
the  very  robe  in  which,  to  other  eyes,  you  might 
seem  more  fair  —  in  all  in  which  you  took  the 
woman's  young  and  innocent  delight  —  /  had  a  part 

—  a  share  ?  that,  even  if  separated  forever  —  even 
if  another's  —  even  in  distant  years  —  perhaps  in  a 
happy  home,  listening  to  sweet  voices  that  might 
call  you  "  mother  !  "  even  then  should  the  uses  of 
that  dross  bring  to  your  lips  one  smile  —  that  smile 
was  mine  —  due  to  me  —  due,  as  a  sacred  debt,  to 
the  hand  that  you  rejected  —  to  the  love  that  you 
despised  ! 

Clara.  Despised  !  See  the  proof  that  I  despised 
you  !  —  see  :  in  this  hour,  when  they  say  you  are 
again  as  poor  as  before,  I  forget  the  world  —  my 
pride  —  pei'haps  too  much  my  sex :  I  remember  but 
your  sorrows  —  I  am  here  ! 

Evelyn  (aside).  Oh,  Heaven!  give  me  strength 
to  bear  it !  —  (Aloud.)  And  is  this  the  same  voice 
that,  when  I  knelt  at  your  feet  —  when  I  asked  but 
one  day  the  hope  to  call  you  mine  —  spoke  only  of 
poverty,  and  answered,  "  Never  "  ? 

Clara.  Because  I  had  been  unworthy  of  your 
love  if  I  had  insured  your  misery.  Evelyn,  hear 
me  !  My  father,  like  you,  was  poor  —  generous ; 
gifted,  like  you,  with  genius  —  ambition  :  sensitive, 
like  you,  to  the  least  breath  of  insult.  He  married, 
as  you  would  have  done  —  married  one  whose  only 
dower  was  penury  and  care  !  Alfred,  I  saw  that 
genius  the  curse  to  itself!  —  I  saw  that  ambition 


444  MONEY.  [ACT  T 

•wither  to  despair  !  —  I  saw  the  struggle  —  the 
humiliation  —  the  proud  man's  agony — the  bitter 
life  —  the  early  death  !  —  and  heard  over  his  breath- 
less clay  my  mother's  groan  of  self-reproach  !  Al- 
fred Evelyn,  now  speak !  Was  the  woman  you 
loved  so  nobly  to  repay  you  with  such  a  doom  ? 

Evelyn.     Clara,  we  should  have  shared  it ! 

Clara.  Shared  ?  Never  let  the  woman  who 
really  loves,  comfort  her  selfishness  with  such  delu- 
sion !  In  marriages  like  this  the  wife  cannot  share 
the  burden  ;  it  is  he  —  the  husband  —  to  provide,  to 
scheme,  to  work,  to  endure  —  to  grind  out  his  strong 
heart  at  the  miserable  wheel !  The  wife,  alas !  can- 
not share  the  struggle  —  she  can  but  witness  the 
despair !     And  therefore,  Alfred,  I  rejected  you. 

Evelyn.  Yet  you  believe  me  as  poor  now  as  I 
was  then. 

Clara.  But  /  am  not  poor :  we  are  not  so  poor  ! 
Of  this  fortune,  which  is  all  your  own  —  if,  as  I  hear, 
one  half  would  free  you  from  your  debts,  why,  we 
have  the  other  half  still  left.  Evelyn  !  it  is  humble 
—  but  it  is  not  penury. 

Evelyn.  Cease,  cease  —  you  know  not  how  you 
torture  me.  Oh,  that  when  hope  was  possible;  — 
oh,  that  you  had  bid  me  take  it  to  my  breast  and 
■wait  for  a  brighter  day ! 

Clara.  And  so  have  consumed  your  life  of  life 
upon  a  hope  perhaps  delayed  till  age  —  shut  you 
from  a  happier  choice,  from  fairer  fortunes  — • 
shackled  you  with  vows  that,  as  my  youth  and  its 
poor  attributes  decayed,  would  only  have  irritated 


SCENE  ir.]  MONEY.  445 

and  galled  —  made  your  whole  existence  one  long 
suspense  !  No,  Alfred,  even  yet  you  do  not  know 
me  ! 

Evelyn.  Know  you !  Fair  angel,  too  excellent 
for  man's  harder  nature  to  understand  !  —  at  least 
it  is  permitted  me  to  revere.  Why  were  such 
blessed  words  not  vouchsafed  to  me  before  ? —  why, 
why  come  they  now  V  —  too  late  !  Oh,  Heaven  — 
too  late  ! 

Clara.     Too  late  !     What,  then,  have  I  said  ? 

Evelyn.  Wealth  !  wliat  is  it  without  you  ? 
With  you,  1  recognize  its  power ;  to  forestall  your 
every  wish  —  to  smooth  your  every  path  —  to  make 
all  that  life  borrows  from  Grace  and  Beauty  your 
ministrant  and  handmaid;  and  then,  looking  to 
those  eyes,  to  read  there  the  treasures  of  a  heart 
that  excelled  all  that  kings  could  lavish  ;  —  why 
that  were  to  make  gold  indeed  a  god !  But  vain  — 
vain  —  vain  !  Bound  by  every  tie  of  faith,  grati- 
tude, loyalty,  and  honor,  to  another  ! 

Clara.  Another  !  Is  she,  then,  true  to  your  re- 
verses ?  I  did  not  know  this  —  indeed,  I  did  not  1 
And  I  have  thus  betrayed  myself!  O,  shame  I  he 
must  despise  me  now  I 


446  MONET.  [act  V 

SCENE   V. 

The  foregoing.  —  Enter  Sir  John;  at  the  same  time 
Graves  and  Lady  Franklin  advance  from  the 
inner  room. 

Sir  John  (ivith  dignity  and  frankness).  Evelyn,  I 
was  hasty  yesterday.  You  must  own  it  natural 
that  I  should  be  so.  But  Geoi'gina  has  been  so 
urgent  in  your  defence,  that  —  {as  Lady  Frank- 
Lix  comes  up  to  luten)  Sister,  just  shut  the  door, 
will  you  —  that  I  cannot  resist  her.  What 's  money 
without  happiness  ?  So  give  me  your  security  ;  for 
she  insists  on  lending  you  the  10,000/. 

Evelyn.     I  know ;  and  have  already  received  it. 

Sir  John.  Already  received  it !  Is  he  joking  ? 
Faith,  for  the  last  two  days  I  believe  I  have  been 
living  amongst  the  Mysteries  of  Udolpho !  Sister, 
have  you  seen  Georgina  ? 

Lady  F.  Not  since  she  went  out  to  walk  in  the 
square. 

Sir  John  (aside).  She  's  not  in  the  square  nor  the 
house  —  where  the  deuce  can  the  girl  be  ? 

Evelyn.  I  have  written  to  Miss  Vesey  —  I  have 
asked  her  to  fix  the  day  for  our  wedding. 

Sir  John  (joyfully).  Have  you  ?  Go,  Lady 
Franklin,  find  her  instantly  —  she  must  be  back  by 
this  time :  take  my  carriage,  it  is  but  a  step  —  you 
won't  be  two  minutes  gone.  —  (Aside.)  I  'd  go  my- 
self, but  I  'm  afraid  of  leaving  him  a  moment  while 
he  's  in  such  excellent  dispositions. 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  447 

Lachj  F.  (^repulsing  Clara).  No,  no  :  stay  till  I 
return.  \_Exit. 

Sir  John.  And  don't  be  down-hearted,  my  dear 
fellow ;  if  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  you  will 
have  everything  I  can  leave  you.  Meantime,  if  I 
can  in  any  way  help  you  — 

Evelyn.  Ha !  —  you  !  —  you,  too  ?  Sir  John, 
you  have  seen  my  letter  to  Miss  Vesey  ?  (^Aside) 
or  could  she  have  leai*ned  the  truth  before  she  ven- 
tured to  be  generous  ? 

Sir  John.  No  !  on  my  honor.  I  only  just  called 
at  the  door  on  my  way  from  Lord  Spend  —  that 
is,  from  the  City.  Georgina  was  out ;  —  was  ever 
anything  so  unlucky  ?  —  (  Without.')  [Hurrah  — 
hurrah  !     Blue  for  ever !  ]  —  What 's  that  ? 

Enter  Sharp. 

Sharp,  Sir,  a  deputation  from  Groglnhole  —  poll 
closed  in  the  first  hour — you  are  returned!  Holloa, 
sir  —  holloa ! 

Evelyn.     And  it  was  to  please  Clara  ! 

Sir  John.  Mr.  Sharp  —  Mr.  Sharp  —  I  say,  how 
much  has  INIr.  Evelyn  lost  by  Messrs.  Flash  and  Co.  ? 

Sharp.     Oh,  a  great  deal,  sir,  —  a  great  deal. 

Sir  John  {alarmed) .     How  ?  —  a  great  deal ! 

Evelyn.  Speak  the  truth.  Sharp,  —  concealment 
is  all  over. 

Sharp.  223L  6s.  Zd.  —  a  great  sum  to  throw 
away  ! 

Graves.  Ah,  1  comprehend  now !  Poor  Evelyn 
caught  in  his  own  ti'ap  1 


448  MONEY.  [ACT  V. 

Sir  John.  Eh !  what,  my  dear  boy  ?  —  what  ? 
Ha!  ha!  all  humbug,  was  it?  —  all  humbug,  upon 
my  soul !  So,  Mr.  Sharp,  is  n't  he  ruined  after  all  ? 
—  not  the  least,  wee,  rascally,  little  bit  in  the  world, 
ruined  V 

Sharp.  Sir,  he  has  never  even  lived  up  to  his 
income. 

Sir  John.  Worthy  man !  I  could  jump  up  to 
the  ceiling !  I  am  the  happiest  father-in-law  in  the 
three  kingdoms. —  And  that's  my  sister's  knock,  too. 

Clara.  Since  I  was  mistaken,  cousin,  —  since, 
now,  you  do  not  need  me,  —  forget  what  has 
passed  ;  my  business  here  is  over.     Farewell ! 

Evelyn.  Could  you  but  see  my  heart  at  this 
moment,  with  what  love,  what  veneration,  what 
anguish  it  is  filled,  you  would  know  how  little,  in 
the  great  calamities  of  life,  fortune  is  really  worth. 
And  must  we  part  now,  —  now,  when  —  when  — 
I  never  we2:)t  before,  since  my  mother  died  ! 

Enter  Lady  Fraxiclix  and  Gkougixa,  followed 
by  Blount,  xoho  looks  shy  and  embarrassed. 

Graves.  Georgina  herself  —  then  there  's  no 
hope. 

Sir  John.  What  the  deuce  brings  that  fellow 
Blount  here? —  Georgy,  my  dear  Georgy,  I  want 
to  — 

Evelyn.     Stand  back,  Sir  Jolm  ! 

Sir  .Mm.  But  I  must  speak  a  word  to  her  —  1 
want  to  — 

Evelyn.      Stand  back,  I  say,  —  not  a  whisper  — 


SCENE  V-l  MOXKY.  44  9 

not  a  sign.  If  your  daughter  is  to  be  my  wife,  to 
her  heart  only  will  1  look  for  a  reply  to  mine. 

Lady  F.  (to  Gkoug.").     Speak  the  truth,  niece. 

Evelyn.  Georgina,  it  is  true,  then,  that  you  trust 
me  with  your  confidence  —  your  fortune  ?  It  is 
also  true,  that  when  you  did  so  you  believed  me 
ruined  ?  Oh,  pardon  the  doubt !  Answer  as  if 
your  father  stood  not  there  —  answer  me  from  that 
truth  the  world  cannot  yet  have  plucked  from  your 
soul  —  answer  as  if  the  woe  or  weal  of  a  life 
trembled  in  the  balance  —  answer  as  the  woman's 
heart,  yet  virgin  and  unpolluted,  should  answer  to 
one  who  has  trusted  to  it  his  all ! 

Georg.     What  can  he  mean  ? 

Sir  John  (making  signs).  She  won't  look  this 
way,  she  Avon't  —  hang  her  —  Hem  ! 

Evelyn.  You  falter.  I  implore  —  I  adjure  you  — 
answer ! 

Lady  F.     The  truth  I 

Georg.  Mr.  Evelyn,  your  fortune  might  well 
dazzle  me,  as  it  dazzled  others.  Believe  me,  I 
sincerely  pity  your  reverses. 

Sir  John.     Good  girl !  you  hear  her,  Evelyn. 

Georg.     What's  money  without  happiness  ? 

Sir  John.  Clever  creature !  —  my  own  senti- 
ments ! 

Georg.  And  so,  as  our  engagement  is  now  an- 
nulled,—  papa  told  me  so  this  very  morning, — I 
have  promised  my  hand  where  I  have  given  my 
heart  —  to  Sir  Frederick  Blount. 

Sir  John.  I  told  you,  —  1  ?  No  such  thing  — 
29 


450  MONEY.  [ACT  r. 

no  sucli  thing :  you  frighten  her  out  of  her  wits  — 
she  don't  know  Avhat  she  's  saying. 

Evelyn.  Am  I  awake  ?  But  this  letter  —  this 
letter,  received  to-day  — 

Lady  F.   (looling  over  the  letter).     Drummond's 

—  from  a  banker! 
Evelyn.     Head  —  read. 

Lady  F.  "  Ten  thousand  pounds  just  placed  to 
your  account  —  from  the  same  unknown  friend  to 
Evelyn."  Oh,  Clara,  I  know  now  why  you  went 
to  Drummond's  this  morning. 

Evelyn.  Clara  !  What  !  —  and  the  former  one 
with  the  same  signature,  on  the  faith  of  which  I 
pledged  my  hand  and  sacrificed  my  heart  — 

Lady  F.  Was  written  under  my  eyes,  and  the 
secret  kept  that  — 

Evelyn.     Look  up,  look  up,  Clara  —  I  am  free  ! 

—  I  am  released !  you  forgive  me  ?  —  you  love  me  ? 

—  you  are  mine  !  We  are  rich  —  rich  !  I  can  give 
you  fortune,  power,  —  I  can  devote  to  you  my 
whole  life,  thought,  heart,  soul  —  I  am  all  yours, 
Clara —  my  own  —  my  wife  ! 

Sir  Jolm  {to  Georg.).  So,  you  've  lost  the  game 
by  a  revoke,  in  trumping  your  own  father's  best  of 
a  suit !  —  Unnatural  jade  !  —  Aha,  Lady  Franklin 

—  I  am  to  thank  you  for  this ! 

Lady  F.  You  've  to  thank  me  that  she  's  not 
now  on  the  road  to  Scotland  with  Sir  Frederick. 
I  chanced  on  them  by  the  Park  just  in  time  to  dis- 
siuade  and  save  her.  But,  to  do  her  justice,  a  hint 
of  your  displeasure  was  sufficient. 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  451 

Georg.  (half  sobbing).  And  you  know,  papa,  you 
said  this  very  morning  that  poor  Frederick  had 
been  very  ill-used,  and  you  would  settle  it  all  at 
the  club. 

Blount.  Come,  Sir  John,  you  can  only  blame 
yourself  and  Evelyn's  cunning  device.  After  all, 
I  'm  no  such  vewy  bad  match ;  and  as  for  the 
10,000/.  — 

Evelyn.  I  '11  double  it.  Ah,  Sir  John,  what 's 
money  without  happiness? 

Sir  John.  Pshaw  —  nonsense  —  stuff.  Don't 
humbug  me  ! 

Ladij  F.  But  if  you  don't  consent,  she  '11  have 
no  husband  at  all. 

Sir  John.  Hum!  there  's  something  in  that. 
(^Aside  to  Evelyn.)  Double  it,  will  you  ?  Then 
settle  it  all  tightly  on  her.  Well  —  well  —  my 
foible  is  not  avarice.  Blount,  make  her  happy. 
Child,  I  forgive  you.  —  {Pinching  her  arm.)  Ugh, 
you  fool ! 

Graves  (to  Lady  F.).  I'm  afraid  it 's  catching. 
What  say  you  ?  I  feel  the  symptoms  of  matrimony 
creeping  all  over  me.  Shall  we,  eh?  Frankly, 
now,  frankly  — 

Lady  F.  Frankly,  now,  there  's  my  hand,  on 
one  condition,  —  that  we  finish  our  reel  on  the 
wedding-day. 

Graves.  Accepted.  Is  it  possible  ?  Saimed 
Maria  1  thank  Heaven  you  are  spared  this  afflic- 
tion ! 

Enter  Smooth. 


452  MONEY.  UCT  V 

Smooih.  How  d  'ye  do,  Alfred  ?  I  intrude,  I 
fear !     Quite  a  family  party. 

Blount.  "Wish  us  joy,  Smooth  —  Georgina  'a 
mine,  and  — 

Smooth.  And  our  four  friends  there  apparently 
have  made  up  another  rubber.  John,  my  dear 
boy,  you  look  as  if  you  had  something  at  stake  on 
the  odd  trick. 

Sir  John.  Sir,  your  very  —  Confound  the  fel- 
low !  —  and  he 's  a  dead  shot,  too  ! 

E7iter  Stout  and  Glossmore  hastily,  talking  with 
each  other. 

Stout.  I  'm  sure  he  's  of  our  side  ;  we've  all  the 
intelligence. 

Gloss.  I  'm  sure  he 's  of  our's  if  his  fortune  is 
safe,  for  we  've  all  the  property.  —  My  dear  Eve- 
lyn, you  were  out  of  humor  yesterday  —  but  I 
forgive  you. 

Stout.  Certainly !  —  what  would  become  of  pub- 
lic life  if  a  man  were  obliged  to  be  two  days  run- 
ning in  the  same  mind?  —  I  rise  to  explain.  —  Just 
heard  of  your  return,  Evelyn.  Congratulate  you. 
The  gi-eat  motion  of  the  session  is  fixed  for  Friday. 
We  count  on  your  vote.     Progress  with  the  times ! 

Gloss.     Preserve  the  Constitution  ! 

Stout.  Your  money  will  do  wonders  for  the 
party  !  —  Advance. 

Gloss.  The  party  respects  men  of  your  prop- 
erty !     Stick  fast ! 

Evelyn.     I   have   the   greatest   respect,  I  assure 


SCENE  v.]  MONEY.  453 

you,  for  the  -worthy  and  intelligent  flies  upon  both 
sides  the  wheel ;  but  whether  we  go  too  fast  or  too 
slow,  does  not,  I  fancy,  depend  so  much  on  the  flies 
as  on  the  Stout  Gentleman  who  sits  inside  and  pays 
the  post-boys.  Now  all  my  politics  as  yet  is  to  con- 
sider what 's  best  for  tlie  Stout  Gentleman  ! 

Smooth.     Meaning  John  Bull.     Ce  clier  old  John  ! 

Stout.     I  'm  as  wise  as  I  was  before. 

Gloss.     Sir,  he  's  a  trimmer ! 

Evelyn.  Smooth,  we  have  yet  to  settle  our  first 
piquet  account  and  our  last !  And  I  sincerely 
thank  you  for  the  service  you  have  rendered  to 
me,  and  the  lesson  you  have  given  these  gentlemen. 
—  (Turning  to  Clara.)  Ah,  Clara,  you  —  you 
have  succeeded  where  wealth  had  failed !  You 
have  reconciled  me  to  the  world  and  to  mankind. 
My  friends  —  we  must  confess  it  —  amidst  the  hu- 
mors and  the  follies,  the  vanities,  deceits,  and 
vices  that  play  their  parts  m  the  Great  Comedy 
of  Life  —  it  is  our  own  fault  if  we  do  not  find 
such  natures,  though  rare  and  few,  as  redeem  the 
rest,  brightening  the  shadows  that  are  flung  from 
the  form  and  body  of  the  time  with  glimpses  of 
the  everlasting  holiness  of  truth  and  love. 

Graves.  But  for  the  truth  and  the  love,  when 
found,  to  make  us  tolerably  happy,  we  should  not 
be  without  — 

Ladjj  F.     (iood  health  ; 

Graves.     Good  spirits ; 

Clara.     A  good  heart ; 

Smooth.     An  innocent  rubber: 


454  MONEY.  |act   t 

Georg.  Congenial  tempers ; 

Blount.     A  pwoper  degwee  of  pwudence  ; 

Stout.     Enlightened  opinions; 

Gloss.     Constitutional  principles ; 

Sir  John.     Knowledge  of  the  world ; 

Evelyn.     And  —  plenty  of  Money ! 


THE  END. 


Messrs.  Robe^'ts  Bj'others'  Pithlications. 


VERSES. 

By   H.    H. 

Second  New  Enlarged  Edition.     Sqiiare  \%mo.      Uniform 
with  "-Bits  of  Talk:'     Price  $1.25. 


"  The  volume  is  one  which  will  make  H.  H.  dear  to  all  the  lovers  of  true 
poetry.  Its  companionsliip  will  be  a  delight,  its  nobility  of  thought  and  of  purpose 
an  inspiration.  .  .  .  This  new  edition  comprises  not  only  the  former  little  book 
with  til"  same  modest  title,  but  as  many  more  new  poems,  .  .  .  The  best  critics 
have  already  assigned  to  H.  H.  her  high  place  in  our  catalogue  of  authors.  She 
is,  without  doubt,  the  most  highly  intellectual  of  our  fema'e  poets  .  .  .  The  new 
poems,  while  not  inferior  to  the  others  in  poir.t  of  literary  art,  have  in  them  more 
of  fervor  and  of  feeling  ;  more  of  that  lyric  sweetness  which  catches  the  attention, 
and  makes  the  song  sing  itself  over  and  over  afterwards  in  the  remembering  brain. 

.  .  .  Some  of  the  new  poems  seem  among  the  noblest  H.  H  has  ever  written. 
They  touch  the  high-water  mark  of  her  intellectual  piwer,  and  are  full,  besides,  of 
passionate  and  tender  feeling.  Among  these  is  the  '  I'uiieral  March.'" — N.  Y. 
Tribune 

"A  delightful  book  is  the  elegant  little  vo'ume  of  'Verses.'  by  H.  H., — 
instinct  with  the  quality  of  the  finest  Christian  wonianhood.  .  .  .  Some  wives  and 
mothers,  growing  sedate  with  losses  and  cares,  will  read  many  of  these  'Verses' 
with  a  feeling  of  admiration  that  is  full  of  tenderness."  —  Advance. 

"The  poems  of  this  lady  have  taken  a  place  in  public  estimation  perhaps 
higher  than  that  of  any  living  American  living  poetess.  .  .  .  They  are  the  thoughts 
of  a  delicate  and  refined  sensibility,  which  views  life  through  the  i  uie,  still  atmos- 
phere of  religious  fervor,  and  unites  all  thought  by  the  tender  talisman  of  love."  — 
Jnter-Ocenn. 

"Since  the  days  of  poor  '  L.  E.  L.,'  no  woman  has  sailed  into  fame  under  a 
flag  inscribed  with  her  initials  only,  until  the  days  of  '  H.  H.'  Here,  however, 
the  parallelism  ceases  ;  for  the  fresh,  strong  beauty  which  pervades  these  '  Verses  ' 
has  nothing  in  common  with  the  rather  languid  sweetness  of  the  earlier  writer. 
Unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  this  enlarged  volume,  double  the  size  of  that  origi- 
nally issued,  will  place  its  author  not  merely  above  all  American  poetesses  and  all 
living  English  poetesses,  but  above  all  women  who  have  ever  written  jioetry  in 
the  English  language,  except  Mrs.  Browning  alone.  'H.  H.'  has  not  yet  proved 
herself  equal  to  Mrs.  Browning  in  range  of  imagination  ;  but  in  strength  and  depth 
the  American  writer  is  quite  the  equal  of  the  English,  and  in  compactness  and  sym- 
metry altogether  her  superior."  —  T.  IV.  H.  in  the  Indsx. 


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jTfcssrs.  Rohc7-ts  Brothers'  Pithli cat  ions. 

WIT    AND    WISDOM 

OF 

GEORGE     ELIOT. 

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"  It  is  impossible  to  read  George  Eliot,  either  in  prose  or  poetry,  without 
being  reminded  of  Shakespeare  ;  and  the  resemblar.ee  is  borne  out  in  that  habit 
of  nei  mind  which  throws  oif  thought  in  crystals,  in  terse  and  lucid  generalizations, 
in  flashing  surprises  of  wit,  and  in  epigrams  that  will  pass  into  the  immortal  cur- 
rency of  the  world's  p'overbs.  From  no  other  writer,  it  seems  to  us,  since  Shakes- 
peare, could  so  many  gems  or  statements  —  witty  and  wise  —  be  culled  as  from  the 
works  of  this  wonderful  inind ;  and  in  '  Wit  and  Wisdom  of  George  Eliot '  we 
have  a  collection  which  cannot  fail  to  be  greatly  enjoyed,  and  of  which  we  can  only 
sny  that  it  is  so  good  that  we  wonder  at  its  not  having  been  done  before."  —  Chris- 
tian Union. 

"The  novels  of  George  Eliot  are  full  of  nuggets  of  wisdom  and  bits  of  felici- 
tous characterization  that  dwell  in  the  memory  of  the  attentive  reader.  Some  one 
■as  had  the  '  happy  thought '  to  gather  up  a  great  number  of  these  gems  and 
mange  them  in  a  volume  to  themselves,  with  a  good  index  to  aid  the  render  in 
inding  his  favorite.  'The  Wit  and  Wisdom  of  George  Eliot'  is  a  dainty  little 
01  ok  that  the  readers  of  that  thoughtful  novelist  will  eagerly  seek  and  heartily 
c-njoy."  —  Cleveland  Herald. 


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